


The Immutable Heart of Dorian Pavus

by The_Real_Fenris



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Benevolent Sexism, Bi-Curiosity, Blood Magic, Bromance, Canon Dialogue, Canon-Typical Violence, Dragon Age: Inquisition Spoilers, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Gay Sex, Gender or Sex Swap, Halward Pavus' A+ Parenting, Internalized Homophobia, Kink Meme, Lyrium Addiction, M/M, Original Character(s), Sexual Content, Skyhold, Templars, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-14
Updated: 2015-10-31
Packaged: 2018-04-20 19:04:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 48,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4798874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Real_Fenris/pseuds/The_Real_Fenris
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For a prompt on the kinkmeme/Tumblr: "An AU in which Dorian’s father goes through with the blood magic ritual and Dorian is turned into a woman. Dorian still joins the Inquisition but is a little more jaded, a lot more upset about everything, and needs all the love and acceptance his friends have to offer."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Blood Sacrifice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Dorian,” he said quietly. “I’m sorry that it had to come to this. But you’ve given us no other choice.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had trouble tagging this. It won't be pornographic, but sex scenes will be somewhat explicit. Because this is a gender-swap story, you should expect gender issues - which is a sensitive topic for lots of folks, so I will try to put warnings on any chapters that may either be squicks or triggers. PLEASE feel free to ask me any questions if you have any concerns.
> 
> This chapter: I brutally murder an elf. Enjoy my cruelty!

Dorian Pavus’ screams echoed down the corridors of his parents’ house in Qarinus, as the men dragged him bodily down to his father’s laboratory.

“Stop! Please, please listen! You don’t have to do this! You don’t know what he intends to do! Please, for the love of the Maker, let me go!”

The men completely ignored his pleas as they continued to roughly pull him along. No pity. They were his father’s _hired muscle._ Commoners without even a scrap of magical power. Dorian had had first met them when they’d murdered all the guardsmen in the Abrexis house before kidnapping Dorian straight out of his lover’s bed, and whisked him out of Minrathous several months ago. Maker, had his father just gone down to the slums and paid the first set of thugs he’d stumbled across in some seedy, shadowy tavern? And since Dorian’s first escape attempt, they’d taken turns forcing him to swallow the bitter demon weed potion that kept his magic suppressed, so he couldn’t even fight them.

The thugs shoved him into the laboratory where both his parents were waiting.

Halward Pavus tilted his chin, indicating the large table where he did most of his experiments, its surface uncharacteristically empty. “Bind him there.”

“Father, please!” Dorian called out as the men forced him down on the table, and began securing first his arms, then his legs. “Why are you doing this to me? Can’t we talk about this?”

Once the thugs had finished their task, Halward dismissed them with a gesture. As they withdrew from the room, the magister looked down at his son. In Halward’s face, the lines seemed like they had etched themselves more deeply. “Dorian,” he said quietly. “I’m sorry that it had to come to this. But you’ve given us no other choice.”

Dorian jerked at the ropes that bound him. He was firmly affixed to the cold, hard marble surface of his father’s work table. _If only... if only I had enough magic to burn off the ropes..._ “Choice? Father, you can’t mean...? No, you can’t mean that...” In his veins, his blood turned cold. “Mother? Please don’t let him do this!”

The Lady Aquinea primly folded her hands. “Your duty as the scion of House Pavus was to marry and produce an heir, Dorian. You’ve refused to co-operate. Despite the fact that we’ve given you everything, you’ve always been a selfish, willful boy.”

Her cold words stopped his tongue. His mother... had she ever loved him at all? Or did she just despise him for resembling so much the man she’d been forced to marry?

In the ensuing silence, his father’s eyes met hers. “The time for discussion is over. Aquinea, fetch the sacrifice.”

 _The sacrifice..._ Oh, Maker, it _was_ true. His worst fear – that his father was going to use blood magic on him. His blood wasn’t just cold now – it was ice. “Father? What are you going to do?”

As his mother swished off out of the room, his father didn’t quite look him in the face. “We will change you, Dorian. So that you won’t enjoy the company of your own sex anymore. So you will be... normal.”

Maker, he was going to be sick. His voice was barely more than a whisper. “Father – please. You told me that blood magic was the last resort of a weak mind. You can’t want this. What if something goes wrong? What if –”

Dorian choked on the terrible words, unable to force them out.

“I’m sorry, Dorian. But it has to be this way.”

In that moment, his mother returned. With her was one of the elven slaves.

But not just any slave.

Rilienus.

Dorian felt his heart lurch. _No, not him. Anyone but him._

Rilienus had been a slave of House Pavus all of Dorian’s life. The son of one of the maids and the gardener, and only two years older than Dorian, so they had practically grown up together. Played together in the long, hazy summer days. Then, when Dorian’s magic had manifested, he’d been sent off to school, so he’d only seen Rilienus during holidays, or whenever he’d return home, expelled from one Circle or another. Which meant that they’d drifted apart until Dorian was fifteen. Home again while his father hired tutor after tutor, he had renewed his friendship with the slave.

Rilienus had become a beautiful young man. Soft-spoken but intelligent. Luscious tan skin, fine-boned, pretty curving lips. And he held the distinction of being the first person who had made Dorian’s heart quicken whenever he walked into the room.

Yet Dorian had been taught that it was... well, _unseemly_ for a man to use his slaves for sex. Even though it wasn’t uncommon in other Houses for masters to use their favored slaves that way, Dorian had never been able to bring himself to confess his feelings to Rilienus, nor order the elf to warm his bed, no matter how much he desired it. Instead, for the past decade or so, he’d just pretended that friendship with the slave was all he wanted.

From his belt, Halward unsheathed a sharp little silver dagger.

Tears, hot, prickled at the corner of his eyes. “Father, no!” Dorian cried. “Please don’t do this! I beg you!” A sob caught in his throat. “I swear I’ll do anything you ask. I’ll marry the girl. I’ll do anything! Please... please... just don’t hurt him.”

Confusion and pain clouded the elf’s features. “Master Dorian? Please don’t cry.”

“It’s too late, Dorian,” his father said.

Then drew the knife across Rilienus’ throat.

Blood welled in the cut for a moment before it spurted, jetting across the stone floor.

Dorian screamed.

Dazed, he was only vaguely aware of his father intoning the spell that would summon the demon from the Fade. Vaguely aware of his father binding the demon to the corpse of the only man he’d ever loved. Vaguely aware of his father whispering, and the demon, under his control for the moment, conceding to the magister’s demands.

Pain was a lightning bolt, jagging straight through him. Renting him asunder.

Inside him, something was... changing. Raw magic, altering reality. Transforming him in ways that he couldn’t even begin to fathom. Maker, it hurt. Pain beyond comprehension.

Then, suddenly, pain receded, leaving him limp and helpless, writhing on the cold, hard marble. For a long time, Dorian floated in a haze, insensate, before he glanced down at himself and realized just what, exactly, had transpired in his father’s laboratory.

The demon had changed him.

Just not in the way anyone had thought it would.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Full prompt from the kinkmeme if you're curious:
> 
> Dorian's dad went through with the blood magic ritual and the demon turned him into a woman instead of making him straight. Dorian is devastated and runs away (as he does in game) and joins the Inquisition. He doesn't bother hiding his female body and wears clothes he stole from his mother. He still identifies as male and constantly corrects people. Eventually he finds a way to turn back.
> 
> \+ for pre-return to normal sex  
> \+ dirty talk and begging  
> \+ loving over protective romance  
> \+ for insecure Dorian as a woman  
> \+ for Dorian worrying he won't be loved as a man  
> \+ sera/Dorian bromance


	2. Haven Falls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “If someone could open this, I’d appreciate it!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Meet the Inquisitor. In canon, I believe Trevelyan is destined to join the Templars (implying that he hasn't yet), but it sort of made more sense to me if he did INDEED join the Templars, since boys/girls are sent to the Order quite young. So this Inquisitor is actually an ex-Templar.
> 
> Other than that, this scene (including dialogue) is pretty much pure canon. Probably not very interesting, but I wanted the Inquisitor's POV on meeting Dorian. 
> 
> A note on pronouns: Because this is their first time meeting Dorian (and it's POV Quizzy), Dorian is referred to as "she"/"her" etc. If that bothers you, don't worry - Dorian will straighten everyone out next chapter about which pronouns they need to use with him.

Maxwell Trevelyan, the Herald of Andraste, stepped towards the main gates of Haven, currently sealed and barred. He could hear the sounds of fighting outside. Then, in rapid succession there were two flashes of orange light, rattling the gates. Even from several feet away, Max could feel the magical heat through the wood. Could sense the nearby magic in the air.

Then he heard a muffled voice from outside. “If someone could open this, I’d appreciate it!”

Max didn’t hesitate. He ran for the gates, Cullen close behind him. The soldier stationed there, having perceived his intention, had already unbolted the doors and was pushing one open.

On the dirt road before the gates, on her hand and knees, they found a woman. Mage staff of dark wood in one hand, topped by the likeness of a dragon, wings spread, about to take flight. And forming a circle around her, a dozen dead bodies in unfamiliar armor.

Using the staff, she hoisted herself up to her knees, eyes darting between Max and Cullen, their swords out uselessly as they rushed towards her.

“I’m here to warn you,” she said. “Fashionably late, I’m afraid.”

Using her staff again, she rose to her feet. Only her legs, wobbly, gave out from under her. As she stumbled, Cullen – automatically, without thinking about the fact that this was an unknown mage and possibly _dangerous_ – moved forward to catch her.

She staggered into his arms.

“Mite exhausted,” she murmured, quickly pulling away from Cullen’s steadying hands. “Don’t mind me.”

Cullen hovered to catch her again if necessary. But this time she remained standing. She gave the Commander a quick, assessing glance before turning to Max, obviously debating about who was in charge.

As she considered them, Max considered her.

The dress she wore wasn’t so much frilly as it was dark, layered, and covered with complicated laces and straps – being of Ostwick nobility, Max recognized high Tevinter fashion when he saw it. She had long dark hair worn in a loose braid halfway down her back. Although the circumstances prevented Max from giving it much thought, it didn’t escape his notice that she was beautiful. Strong, striking features, coppery skin, and there was beauty mark high on her right cheekbone so perfectly placed that Max assumed that it was painted on. He noted that her eyes, full of intelligent fire, when they finally settled on Max, were storm-cloud gray.

A mage from Tevinter – _that_ did little to calm Max’s nerves. Still, he never turned down help whenever it arrived, in any form. “You came to warn us?”

“Yes. My name is Dorian Pavus, and I bring grave news from Redcliff – an army of rebel mages right behind me.”

Cullen and Max exchanged a glance.

“They are under the command of the Venatori, in service to something called the ‘Elder One’.”

She turned and pointed to the two figures who had appeared on the crest of a nearby hill. “The woman is Calpernia. She commands the Venatori. For that... the Elder One.”

Even from this distance, Max could tell that the Elder One wasn’t human. He was too big, too strange. Surprise jolted him as he realized what it was. _Maker, it’s a darkspawn. A darkspawn with a fucking army of rebel mages behind it._

If he’d had two infusions of lyrium in his pocket, Max didn’t doubt that he would have already swallowed one, and would be forcing the other down Cullen’s throat right now, regardless of their agreement.

His eyes whipped over to the Commander. “Cullen! Give me a plan! Anything!”

Cullen became thoughtful. “Perhaps if we use the trebuchets...”

***

They had lost the fight.

Overwhelmed and forced to retreat, they ran to the Chantry.

Max stopped near the door to make sure all of his people got in. Varric, Cassandra, and Bull skidded in last, then Max gave the order to seal the Chantry doors.

Nearby, he noticed Grand Chancellor Roderick. The man’s face was badly bruised. As he clutched at a wound in his side, he stumbled.

The woman who had come to warn them – Dorian – caught him. Staggering just a little under the chancellor’s weight, she threw the man’s arm over her shoulder and slowly led him along. Passing by Max, her eyes slid over his. “A brave man,” she said. “He stood against a Venatori.”

“Briefly,” Roderick said, then coughed. “I am no Templar.”

Strange that. It almost sounded like a compliment. Ever since he’d been given his title of Herald of Andraste, the holy man had doubted him. Railed against him, even. Though, Max supposed, it was possible that Roderick had briefly forgotten that before this mess had started, like Cullen, Max had served with the Templars.

Cullen ran up. “Herald. Our position is not good. That dragon stole back any time you might have earned us. There has been no communication, no demands. Only advance after advance.”

Having deposited Roderick in the nearest chair, the woman crouched down next to him, seeming to not care that her skirts were now spread over the dusty floor. “There was no bargaining with the mages, either. This Elder One takes what it wants. From what I gathered in Redcliff, it marched all of this way to take your Herald.”

Max tilted up his chin, and with a bravado he didn’t exactly feel, said, “If it will save these people, he can have me.”

Dorian gave him a look of surprise. “You know, you may be either the biggest fool in Thedas, or the bravest man I’ve ever met. I’m not sure which.” Her lips curled into a sly smile. “And such a promising start with the landslide.” Her soft nervous laughter rang like tinkling bells. “If only trebuchets remained an option.”

A cunning light appeared in Cullen’s eyes. “They are,” he said, turning to Max, “if we turn the last of them to the mountains above us.”

“We’re overrun,” Max pointed out. “To hit the enemy, we’d bury Haven.”

Cullen lowered his voice. “This is not survivable now. The only choice left is how spitefully we end this.”

Dorian stood up, brushing the dust from her skirts as she strode angrily over to them. “Well, that’s not acceptable!” As she spoke, her hand twirled in the air, with a flourish, as though sketching out a spell. “I didn’t race here only to have you drop rocks on my head!”

Maker, not only was this woman beautiful, she was a spitfire. Max knew he shouldn’t, but he kind of respected her for it.

Cullen turned, stepped forward, shoulders thrust back, aggressively in Dorian’s face. “Should we submit? Let him kill us?”

Max knew exactly what Cullen was doing. He’d seen other Templars do the same thing a hundred times before whenever a mage was becoming unruly. Max himself had done it. And every time, the mage, intimidated, would back down fast.

This mage, however, stood her ground, her expression harsh. “Dying is typically a last resort, not a first!” Sneering, she jabbed a finger into Cullen’s chest as her tone became cutting. “For a Templar, you think like a blood mage.”

They glared at each other. For a moment, Max thought he might have to step in, but then Roderick spoke.

“There is a path,” he said. Max, Cullen and Dorian listened as the Chancellor explained.

“What about it, Cullen?” Max asked softly. “Will it work?”

“Possibly. _If_ he shows us the path. But what of your escape?”

Max became silent. His expression grim.

 _Maker, he really would sacrifice himself for the rest of us,_ the mage thought. With some awe, Dorian said, “Perhaps you _can_ surprise the Elder One.”

Cullen gave Max one final look before he snapped an order. “Inquisition! Move out!”


	3. Friggin' Biscuit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And now here he was: alone, friendless, and freezing among hostile strangers who spat at him.

Roderick Asignon had led the people of Haven to safety. Along the hidden path, and then up into the mountains. The Elder One’s mage army had not followed. But neither had the Herald of Andraste.

The mood at their makeshift camp was bleak.

Dorian had barely met the Herald. All Dorian knew was that the man was young and dreadfully handsome, that he had a beautiful voice which lacked that twangy Free Marcher accent that Dorian despised so much, and that he was either the grandest fool or the bravest man in the world.

Still, Trevelyan was the only one capable of closing the rifts, so if he were dead... well, that would be very bad.

Not that Dorian’s mood was any less dreary. There was snow everywhere, and the boots he’d stolen from his mother’s closet – though perfectly practical for mild winters in Tevinter – weren’t waterproof. It was also freezing cold in the mountains. And word had already gotten out that he was a mage from Tevinter, so everyone was doing their best to avoid him when they weren’t actually flinging slurs at him. He was constantly on edge, waiting for an attack – either fists or a knife. So far, however, the worst thing that had happened was that the blacksmith had not-so-subtly suggested that he go fornicate with a mabari, and then spat on the ground at Dorian’s feet.

Therefore, Dorian spent all his free time at Roderick’s side. Keeping him warm. Bringing him soup and giving him water to drink. Using magic to soothe his pain.

Dorian was sitting beside him, holding his hand, when Roderick died.

Dorian closed the man’s eyes, then quietly shed a few tears before he stood up.

As he moved through camp, he surreptitiously dried his eyes. He didn’t even know why he was crying. He’d hardly known the dead man. Since the ritual, though, Dorian’s emotions tended to rise and fall like the waves of the beach at Nocen, beyond his control. Sometimes, it seemed like he could cry at the drop of a hat, at the most trivial of upsets. And he was pretty sure he’d lost his pretty black silk handkerchief somewhere in Redcliff.

And now here he was: alone, friendless, and freezing among hostile strangers who spat at him.

Which was enough to make him start crying again.

He silently cursed himself. _Kaffas, Dorian Pavus! Really?_

Anger quickly turned to mortification as a large hand dangled a small square of blue and green fabric before his face. A deep voice softly rumbled. “Here. You look like you could use this.”

Dorian looked up... and up... and up...

Into the face of the largest Qunari he’d ever seen.

Okay, he’d seen the man during their trek. Impossible not to notice him, really. But not this close.

Maker, he was big. A warrior type, bulging with muscles. Dorian realized that he’d wandered past the edge of camp. And that the Qunari – if he wanted to – would have little difficulty dragging Dorian off and pinning him down on the snowy ground.

Not that Dorian was helpless, of course. Magic was a wonderful equalizer. But, since the ritual, he’d learned to avoid certain situations to save himself the trouble they caused. He’d been caught in too many corners by lascivious men and forced to fight his way out. Until the ritual, he’d had no idea what women had to go through, and how very real the threat of rape was. Constant and terrible.

When Dorian didn’t immediately accept the handkerchief, the Qunari took a good look at it before thrusting it towards Dorian again. “I promise it’s clean,” he rumbled. “I haven’t blown any snot into it or anything.”

“Uh... that’s... somewhat reassuring,” Dorian stammered, then plucked the swatch out of the man’s hand. He dabbed his eyes with it. Then unceremoniously blew his nose into it.

“So, you’re the classy type,” the Qunari said. “By the way, you can keep that.”

“It’s really not my color scheme,” Dorian murmured, but tucked it up his sleeve anyway.

The Qunari cocked his head. “Feeling better?”

“Not really.”

“Some bastard hurt you? ‘Cause I’d be happy to go knock his shit against a rock.”

Dorian choked on a laugh. “No, nothing like that,” he said. Then, without knowing why he was even saying it, he blurted out, “Roderick. The man who led us from Haven? He’s dead.”

“That’s too bad,” he said. Then the Qunari studied Dorian. Thoughtful. “You can call me the Iron Bull. Bull for short. You’re Dorian, right? You’re shivering. Some of my friends and I have a campfire going. You should join us.”

“I... yes, thank you. I think I shall.”

Dorian followed Bull back through the camp to one of the fires. Around it sat a red-haired man in heavy armor, a dwarven man with an unusual-looking crossbow, and a female elven archer. As Dorian sat down, Bull made introductions.

“This here’s Krem de la Krem. The lieutenant of my Chargers, which is the company of mercs I run. He was also the only ‘Vint in the Inquisition until you showed up.”

 _“Salve. Mihi placet._ Wanna drink?”

Dorian smiled. _“Nemo saltat sobrius.”_

Krem snickered, then passed Dorian a cup. Within it, a liberal amount of golden whiskey.

Bull indicated the elf. “This is Sera. She likes shooting arrows at things.”

Sera narrowed her eyes at Dorian, clearly assessing. “You keep your magic business to yourself, right? And I’ll keep my arrows out of your arse.”

Dorian raised an eyebrow. “I’m sure my arse would appreciate that.”

Finally, Bull indicated the dwarf. “And this is Varric. Dwarf of all trades.”

Varric stroked his crossbow. “You forgot to introduce Bianca, Tiny.”

“I didn’t forget shit,” Bull mumbled. “You wanna be weird and name your weapon? Then you get to introduce it.”

“Bianca’s a her,” Varric corrected with a smile. “And I’m not the only one. That sword that the Herald’s father sent him? Family heirloom. Apparently it’s quite famous in Ostwick. It has a name, too.”

“Stabby?” Sera guessed.

Dorian sat quietly, sipping his whiskey, which warmed his insides, and uncurled his toes towards the fire, listening as his new companions began to talk about Trevelyan. It didn’t take long for Dorian to realize a few things: that the three of them believed in the man, and had a deep respect for him. Not only that, they _liked_ him. Apparently the Herald was _nice._

As they talked, Dorian glanced around the camp. He noticed two people conferring: a male elf and a human female. Neither looked happy, but Dorian was more interested in the fact that they each carried a magic staff.

Turning back to the others, he asked, “There are other mages in the Inquisition?”

“You sound surprised, Sparkler,” Varric said. “Why wouldn’t there be?”

 _Sparkler?_ They would be talking about that later. “Well, with the Herald being a Templar... I mean, the mages and Templars _are_ at war.”

“Ah,” Varric said. “Well, technically, he hasn’t been a Templar since the whole Inquisition business started. That’s all I know about it, so if you want more detail, you’ll have to ask him.”

 _If he’s not dead._ That part was unspoken, except in everyone’s eyes.

“Ah,” Dorian mumbled.

“Anyway, enough about us,” Varric said. “What’s a nice girl like you doing in a snow-covered Void hole like this?”

Dorian stiffened. “I am not a _girl._ ”

Varric held up his hands in a placating gesture. “My apologies. Woman, then.”

That was no less offensive to him. He’d learned how pointless it was trying to explain things to everyone he met, so he’d stopped trying. But, if he was going to stick around with the Inquisition for a while, he needed to set things straight. “Looking like a woman does not make me one,” he said. “I am a man.”

His four companions stared at him. Varric and Sera with mild confusion. Bull and Krem – for some reason – knowingly.

Krem tilted his head, studying Dorian with interest. “But you dress like a woman.”

Dorian snapped at him. “What’s your point?”

Bull chuckled. “Hey, now, ‘Vint. Don’t get your silky panties in a knot. If anyone knows how it feels to be a man trapped in a woman’s body, it would be Kremsicle.”

Dorian stared at the swordsman. He wondered why he hadn’t noticed. Not that it was glaringly obvious, but...

Sera snorted a laugh at him. “Oh, you’re a special kind of crazy, you.”

Before Dorian could respond to that with all of his indignation, one of the Inquisition scouts burst into the camp with a loud shout.

“Come quick! The Herald! He’s alive!”

***

The blessed Herald of Andraste was indeed alive. He’d recovered somewhat quickly after his encounter with the Elder One and his blighted archdemon. There had even been singing. Then, the next day, the man had led them deeper into the Frostback mountains, the mage Solas perpetually at his side.

Dorian had conversed with Solas. The elf’s magic was strange – hedge magic mixed with everything else under the sun. He, at least, didn’t seem concerned about the fact that Dorian was a Tevinter – only that Dorian’s family owned slaves and that Dorian wasn’t an elf.

Most of the refugees, though, still distrusted him. He’d overheard them talking on more than one occasion. Except now, they were talking about him as being the crazy Tevinter woman who thought she was a man. So everyone believed that he was not only an evil Tevinter magister, but also a delusional female. _Lovely._

For some reason, the women were the worst. The things they said were catty and cruel.

Words. Those he could ignore. Other things were harder to ignore, such as the moment when the caravan stopped for the night, and Dorian, in the line for the cooks to fill his dinner plate, was rudely jostled. The purposeful shove against his shoulder was enough to cause the biscuit to fly off his plate, landing on the ground.

Fresh bread. He hadn’t had that in a while, so he almost mourned the loss of it.

Then a pale, slender hand plopped a fresh biscuit down on his plate.

Dorian’s gaze snapped up. To Sera, who was smiling at him.

“What’s this?” he asked.

“It’s a friggin’ biscuit,” she said. “Yours is dirty, innit? You can have mine.”

He raised an eyebrow at her. “That’s... well, rather nice of you.”

She pursed her lips. “Yeah, whatever.” Her eyes narrowed at the gossiping women who were standing nearby, then she raised her voice. “Some bitches better find something else to do rather than natter on about shite that ain’t their business.”

The women hastily slunk away.

Dorian considered the elven archer. “Does this mean my being a mage doesn’t offend you?”

“I told you. Keep your magic shit to yourself. Which you did. Are doing. So, yeah. I think you’re all right. Worth a biscuit you are. Right.”

Dorian blinked. He wasn’t quite sure what that meant, but... it had seemed heartfelt. “In that case... thank you.”

At his gratitude, the elf became suddenly shy. “Yeah, well... no need to go on about it. It’s just a friggin’ biscuit, right?”

“Ah, yes. As you say.”

“Yeah, okay,” Sera murmured. Then, “You can join us if you wanna. You know, for a drink later.”

Did this mean he was making friends in the Inquisition? Maker, Dorian hoped so. Even if it were with a rather odd elven woman who liked sticking arrows in everyone she met.

Dorian gave her his warmest smile. “That sounds like an offer I can’t resist.”


	4. Skyhold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I see you’re still here, though,” Max said. “Does this mean you’re planning on joining the Inquisition?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think we have a definite Inquisitor/Cullen bromance going on here.
> 
> I hope you're enjoying the story so far. Thanks for the kudos, comments, and words of encouragement!

Solas had led them to a place called _Tarasyl’an Te’las_. But soon, even Solas was calling it by its decidedly less-elven name: Skyhold.

It had once been an imposing fortress. Now it had fallen into disrepair. There was rubble and clutter everywhere, making much of the place inaccessible. Entire sections of walls and roofs had collapsed, and with it, banks of snow had encroached the indoors. There were also bricked up doors and sealed passageways everywhere, so many of the corridors which started out as promising turned into dead ends.

After some exploration, Dorian was delighted to find the library.

The windows and ceiling were intact, which meant that the library, though cold, was dry. And that the sizable collection of books had been kept safe from the elements.

Dorian spent most of his time in the library. For the past two nights, since they’d arrived, he’d even slept there, in an old leather armchair that was actually not terribly uncomfortable once he’d cleaned the dust off. His other option was to share a tent with some of the refugee women from Haven. The same women who looked at him askew and called him names under their breath.

The library was in an old tower, which meant that he could look down from the balcony into the atrium below. Where Solas had set up an office, complete with a desk and chair that he had hovered into the room using magic. So Dorian could spy on the elf if he wanted to. Sometimes he did so without meaning to – from below, sound carried brilliantly.

He was rifling through a promising bestiary he’d found when he heard two voices floating up. One belonged to Solas, the other a vaguely familiar and lovely lilting voice without a Free Marcher twang.

“What can I do for you?” Soft, almost whispery – Solas.

“Tell me more about Corypheus.”

Dorian listened as Solas speculated on the Elder One and the orb he carried. As far as speculation went, Dorian supposed it was interesting. Just not entirely helpful.

Eventually, though, his ears pricked up as the conversation took an interesting turn. “Have you seen Dorian?”

“The mage from Tevinter? I have. Try the library. Those stairs will bring you there.”

“Thank you, Solas.”

Dorian quickly replaced the bestiary on the shelf, and pretended to be perusing the titles when he heard the tread of Trevelyan’s boots on the stone floor. “Brilliant, isn’t it?” Dorian drawled. “One moment you're trying to restore order in a world gone mad. That should be enough for anyone to handle, yes? Then, out of nowhere, an Archdemon appears and kicks you in the head. ‘What? You thought this would be easy?’ ‘No, I was just hoping you wouldn’t crush our village like an anthill.’ ‘Sorry about that! Archdemons like to crush, you know. Can’t be helped.’” Dorian paused, turning to regard his visitor with a cunning smile. “Am I speaking too quickly for you?”

At this, Max snorted a soft laugh. “You don’t need to worry about me. I can keep up.”

Dorian considered the newly-appointed Inquisitor. Flames, he was very easy on the eyes. Perfectly symmetrical features. Cutting blue eyes framed by a fan of dark lashes. A finely-shaped mouth just begging to be kissed. Raven-black hair, currently falling in loose waves down to his shoulders, providing a striking contrast with his skin, white as alabaster. Maker, didn’t this man ever go out in the sunlight? That complexion was too perfect. He had surprisingly few scars for a warrior type. Just one, quirking through his left eyebrow that was kind of... sexy.

It was the first time he’d seen Trevelyan out of his armor. Broad shoulders, narrow hips, long legs, a fine ass, and muscles _everywhere._ Dorian did not disapprove. Unfortunately, his admiration of the Inquisitor’s physical qualities put a little husk in his voice. “Yes, I noticed that.”

A little husk which Max hadn’t failed to notice. His eyes lit up as he spoke softly. “Did you, now?”

Dorian cleared his throat, and quickly turned back to the shelves. “Certainly,” he said lightly. “If you were a slack-jawed yokel, you’d already be dead.”

From the corner of his eye, Dorian caught the Inquisitor’s smile: amused, warm, genuine. “That’s most likely true,” he said. “Anyway, I just wanted to thank you. For what you did at Haven.”

“I thought I was being heroic,” Dorian admitted. “I had imagined it in my head – rushing in, saving the day. Too bad it didn’t work out.”

“It was still a brave thing to do.”

Dorian didn’t know what to say to that. Brave or foolish? He didn’t feel particularly brave, but he wouldn’t admit out loud that he was probably a bit of a fool.

“I see you’re still here, though,” Max said. “Does this mean you’re planning on joining the Inquisition?”

Dorian’s gaze jumped back to him. “You would let me?”

Max leaned against the bookshelf, crossing his arms, looking amused. “And why wouldn’t I?”

 _And why wouldn’t I?_ Maker, the things this man said. Just like that. “You’ve heard the rumors, I suppose...?”

Max made a lilting shrug. “I’ve heard some rumors, yes.”

Dorian cocked a challenging eyebrow. “And you’d still permit a crazy, evil mage from Tevinter to join your precious Inquisition?”

“I don’t think you’re evil – you risked your life to warn us,” Max said, choosing his words carefully. “And I don’t particularly care that you’re from Tevinter.”

“But you do think I’m crazy.”

A beat. “I didn’t say that.”

“But everyone else says it,” Dorian pointed out. Then he snarked. “‘Oh, there she is! That delusional woman who claims to be a man. She does have great hair and impeccable fashion sense, but, really! Completely off her rocker! One archdemon short of a Blight!’” Dorian narrowed his eyes. “Regardless, I _am_ a man. I was born a man. This–” he made a sweeping gesture over himself “– doesn’t change _that._ ”

Max became quiet as he considered the mage. She – _he?_ – didn’t seem insane. And even if she – _he_ – were, Max didn’t see anything wrong with using whatever pronouns the mage preferred. “If you don’t mind my asking – if you are a man, then... how did you end up like this?”

“A magic spell gone terribly wrong. More specifically – blood magic.”

“Blood magic? That’s common in Tevinter, isn’t it?”

“Well, yes. But I didn’t cast it, of course. I was just the victim in this scenario.”

Something shifted in Max’s expression. “I see.”

With surprise, Dorian asked, “Does this mean that you believe me?”

“I was in the Circle of Ostwick for fifteen years. I’ve seen magic do a lot of strange things,” he admitted. Then he gave Dorian a playful grin. “As long as you’re not planning on turning into an abomination, then letting you join the Inquisition should be fine.”

Dorian returned the grin. “Not today, at any rate.”

For a moment the two men just stood there, smiling at each other.

“You know,” the Inquisitor said eventually, “it occurs to me that I actually know very little about you.”

“You want to know more about me?” Dorian’s lips curled up even higher. “Why, that’s my favorite subject. I could talk about me all day.”

***

Dorian and the Inquisitor parted over two hours later.

Max had spent most of the first hour asking Dorian about himself. About Tevinter. About Minrathous. The Magisterium. The Archon. About slavery and blood magic – funny how often _those_ two things came up in conversation with Dorian. They’d even talked about the weather – always balmy, even in winter.

Then, it turned out that he and the Inquisitor had similar opinions on the writings of a lesser-known Antivan philosopher named Candelario. Dorian had supposed that Trevelyan, being noble-born, was educated, but he hadn’t quite expected the man to be so articulate. So for the second hour, they’d debated over philosophy and literature, eventually sharing tales of how, as boys, they’d both tormented their tutors.

If not for the interruption, they would have continued talking. At that point, Leliana appeared to inform the Inquisitor that he was terribly late for a meeting with his advisers.

Max flustered. “Oh! I didn’t, uh, realize... I must have lost track of time.”

Dorian had never seen a Templar fluster before. It was kind of... cute.

The mage smiled. “Better run along to save the world, then.”

Max smiled back at him. “I very much enjoyed our discussion. Perhaps, sometime, we could pick up where we left off?”

 _Of course you did – I’m very charming,_ Dorian almost quipped. Instead, he said, “Yes. I’d like that. Perhaps over a game of chess?”

Max’s eyes lit up. “A fine idea. I’ll have to see what the Inquisition can do to procure a chess board.”

 _I have a new friend,_ Dorian thought.

The library had seemed stuffy and stifling after that, so Dorian had wrapped himself up in his coat – also black, covered with straps and buckles, but partially lined with fur – and wandered the grounds outside, breathing deeply the cold, winter air.

He was feeling almost happy. Not only had he been invited to join the Inquisition, his new post included the perks of his very own room, as well as a small stipend. No more sleeping in the library, then. A real bed. And the money would also be welcome – perhaps he could finally buy a decent pair of snow-proof boots.

As he strolled through the courtyard, he noticed the Seeker, Cassandra Pentaghast. He didn’t know her, or very much about her, other than she had been instrumental in reestablishing the Inquisition, and was, purportedly, a very good friend of Maxwell Trevelyan. Nevarran nobility. Short dark hair, clanking armor, with an impressive scar across her left cheek.

And reading a book.

 _That_ was interesting. Southerners were an illiterate lot, so Dorian was always immensely intrigued whenever he found one reading. Curious, he crept closer until he was nearly at her shoulder.

Cassandra startled when his shadow fell across her page. With an animal’s instinct, she was on her feet. It didn’t escape Dorian’s notice that she was holding the book behind her back. Trying to hide it. That made Dorian even more curious.

“You, mage!” Cassandra growled. “Do you always creep up on people?”

Her gaze was wary. Mistrustful. Dorian backed up one step. “I was merely taking a walk! I wasn’t _creeping.”_

“Then... go walk somewhere else.”

A dismissal. Dorian ignored it. “What are you reading?”

A flash of something – _panic?_ – fleeted across her face. “Nothing that would interest you, I’m sure.”

“Oh, I don’t know. I’m always looking for something good to read. I’m afraid that the selection of books in the Inquisition’s library isn’t looking as promising as I’d hoped.”

Cassandra narrowed her eyes at him. Clearly debating. Reluctantly, she admitted, “It’s one of Varric’s books. From his series _Swords and Shields._ A... romance.”

“Varric? You mean the dwarf with the weird crossbow?”

“Yes,” Cassandra said. Then her expression became pinched with worry. “Promise you won’t tell him!”

Interesting. He hadn’t known the dwarf was a writer. What he did know, however, was that Varric and Cassandra weren’t exactly friends. “My lips are sealed,” he promised.

Cassandra visibly relaxed.

“Is it any good?”

Suddenly Cassandra brightened. “It’s wonderful! The way the relationship plays out. The characters swept up by passion... the fighting and danger...” Cassandra trailed off, composing herself. “Why do you wish to know?”

“As I said. I’m always looking for a good book to read.”

Cassandra stared at him for a long time. Eyes narrowed. Perhaps only slightly less mistrustful? “Wait here,” she said, snapping the words like an order.

Having nothing better to do, Dorian waited in the corner of the courtyard while Cassandra slipped off. Watched the people milling about. Stamped his feet against the cold.

Eventually the Seeker returned. She thrust a book at him. A glance at the cover revealed that it was the first installment of _Swords and Shields._

Before Dorian could thank her for loan of the book, Cassandra gave him a cold, warning glare. “You didn’t get it from me.”

***

Time passed at Skyhold.

More refugees arrived. Pilgrims. Laborers, as well, put to work on clearing rubble and making repairs. There was the constant buzz of hammering, sawing, and shouting voices. Dorian disliked being woken in the early morning by the commotion. Though it meant that the old tavern had soon been refurbished, giving everyone a place to finally gather and relax.

Also, the weather had turned warm, melting all the snow on the ground within the fortress, so at least his feet weren’t cold and wet all the time anymore.

As time passed, Dorian got to know Trevelyan and his inner circle a little better. Despite the Inquisitor’s busy schedule, the man still found time to visit Dorian in the library every now and then. Dorian enjoyed his little chats with the Inquisitor. And the genuine warmth he had been sensing lately in the Inquisitor’s regard. They were definitely becoming friends.

Dorian was also becoming friendly with a few other people, mainly Sera, Varric and the Iron Bull – if by _friendly_ , one meant people who were actually willing to be seen drinking and exchanging insults with him in public. But they were the good kind of insults – the playful, teasing kind, rather than the someone-is-getting-stabbed-tonight-in-the-bar kind.

The others in the Circle were far more wary around him. In particular, Vivienne, who disagreed with everything he said about magocracy, and Blackwall, who seemed unconvinced that he was anything but a delusional and dangerous mage from Tevinter. Solas still hadn’t gotten over the whole human-who-owns-elven-slaves issue yet. Even Cassandra, despite loaning him the book, kept him at a watchful distance. And, finally there was Cole, who quietly hovered like a perpetual eavesdropper – though, to be fair, the weird Spirit boy acted that way around everyone.

Surprisingly, he’d become friendly with Cullen, once the Inquisitor had managed to secure a chessboard, and Dorian had learned of the Commander’s passion for the game.

The sun was shining and the day was warm as Dorian and Cullen sat in the garden playing chess for the fourth time together.

Dorian had no shame when it came to winning. He cheated.

“Strange,” Cullen remarked. “When we met – I wouldn’t have expected we’d end up playing chess together.”

“I’m sure you didn’t expect anything, what with the encroaching army, the evil darkspawn magister pulling an archdemon out of his ass and such,” Dorian remarked lightly. “Besides, you were too busy trying to intimidate me.” Then his expression became coy. “By the way, Commander, the next time you wish to win an argument with me, you could try using your good looks. _Those_ might distract me.”

Cullen flustered, awkwardly coughing into his fist. But then he smiled slightly. “Perhaps they are distracting you now because –” he paused to move one of his pieces across the board “– it seems that I’ve won again.”

Dorian muttered a light curse in Tevene.

“Another game?”

Maker, the man was so... smug. “You mean you’re giving me a chance to regain a scrap of my tattered dignity? In that case, yes. One more.”

They set up the board and began to play again.

The game was nearly over when Cullen realized that the Inquisitor was leaning against a nearby pillar, arms casually crossed, watching them with casual interest.

“Inquisitor,” he sputtered, rising halfway out of his chair. As if the Inquisitor had just caught them misbehaving.

Max waved him back down with a gesture as he stepped forward. His smile was playful. “Commander? You are aware that Dorian cheats?”

Dorian huffed. “I am scandalized and offended by your accusation,” he said. Then to Cullen, “Besides, I don’t cheat half as much as a certain Inquisitor.”

Cullen just smiled as he leaned forward to select his queen. “Perhaps you both may wish to rethink your strategy, since I always win.” He slid the piece across the board. “Checkmate, by the way.”

Dorian rose from his chair, muttering to the Inquisitor. “He’s going to be insufferable if this keeps up.”

The Inquisitor snorted. “I don’t disagree.”

Pausing, Dorian added, “Oh, and, Inquisitor? About the Venatori? I sent the report to Leliana this morning.”

Max had promised Dorian that he would help him hunt down and kill the Tevinter cultists. “Then I look forward to reading it.”

They exchanged a smile, and then, as Dorian slipped off, Max took his chair, ordered Cullen to set up the board, and considered the sway of Dorian’s retreating hips.

Max was still getting used to the idea that Dorian was a man. For the most part, Dorian spoke and acted in a way that was decidedly masculine. Still, the Inquisitor sometimes slipped up and used the wrong pronouns when speaking of the Tevinter mage, because his hourglass figure, his pretty face, and his sweet voice were so determinedly feminine.

Cullen finished arranging the pieces, then followed Max’s gaze. “So, Inquisitor. Have you decided? Do you trust her?”

“Him,” the Inquisitor corrected, though those sashaying hips belied it.

“Ah, yes. Him, then.”

Max considered. Bonded by the brotherhood of the Order, he and Cullen had quickly become close. Out of everyone in the Inquisition, Max trusted and relied on Cullen the most, followed a close second by Cassandra. After all, Seekers and Templars weren’t so very different. _Seekers – like Templars but with significantly less lyrium addiction,_ had been Cullen’s witty remark. So Cullen was the closest thing he had to a confidante. The wall of polished steel and fur against which he bounced all his ideas.

Sharp blue eyes met Cullen’s honey brown. “I think I do trust him.”

“Really?” Cullen’s surprise was tangible. “A mage?”

Max shrugged. “His intentions are good. His heart in the right place. He really does want to do the right thing.”

“That is... commendable.” Cullen studied the board, then made his move. Then: “Are you sure it’s not because he has such a pretty face?”

Max lifted an eyebrow. “I’m not into _men,_ Commander.”

“Yes, but... his appearance is... deceiving.”

“That’s not Dorian’s fault.”

“I’m not suggesting that it is,” Cullen replied. “Your move.”

The Inquisitor toyed with one of his pieces. “Then what _are_ you suggesting?”

“Only that you be cautious,” Cullen said carefully. “Even I can see the appeal of a gorgeous woman with a man’s mind.”


	5. The Hinterlands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “The Fereldan heartland,” the enchanter mumbled to himself. “It’s a brave new world, Dorian Pavus.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sketch is by fussnugget, who supplied the original prompt for this story on Tumblr.

 

The hunt for Venatori brought the Inquisitor and Dorian first to the Hinterlands.

Dorian was thrilled to be out on his first mission as an agent of the Inquisition. At least until they actually reached the Hinterlands.

“The Fereldan heartland,” the enchanter mumbled to himself. “It’s a brave new world, Dorian Pavus.”

Because the Inquisitor never traveled alone, he’d opted to bring Bull and Sera, as well.

“Guess that makes you the token mage,” Bull teased.

“Token mage?” Dorian balked. “You make me sound like something the Inquisitor would put on his mantle.”

The Inquisitor grinned. “Well, you _would_ look good between the pot of Antivan violets, and the framed picture of Aunt Lucille.”

“What strange things to put on a mantle!”

“Oh?” the Inquisitor said. “And what do you put on yours?”

“An absurd question. Books, of course.”

“What about you, Sera?”

“Arrows.”

“Bull?”

“The skulls of my enemies.”

“Hmm,” Dorian quipped. “I didn’t realize that the _Mortalitasi_ did interior decorating.”

“Really?” the Inquisitor asked.

Bull grinned. “Nah. Just messing with you, Boss. I’ve got some candles on the mantle. Nice ones – the scented kind. Really sets the mood.”

“Strange,” Dorian remarked. “I never would have taken _you_ for a romantic.”

The Inquisitor paused to check the map, then led the party down a twisting path.

Not far in the distance they located a camp. Men dressed in traditional Tevinter mage robes milled about. All enchanters. _Maker, you’d think they would try to blend in,_ Dorian thought. Then he realized what _he_ was wearing, and nearly laughed at himself.

They rushed in to attack.

During the battle, Dorian caught glimpses of the Inquisitor. The sun glinted off his shiny metal armor as his sword hissed through the neck of a cultist, blood jetting through the air. Each movement sleek and practiced, with the grace of an Orlesian ballroom dancer. Dorian would have stopped to admire him if he hadn’t been so busy trying to prevent the cultist leader from turning him into a pillar of ice.

Their enemies defeated, Sera let out a whoop. “Serves you right, you witchy bastards!”

Dorian was greatly pleased. At least until the Inquisitor decided that it was getting late, and that they should head to camp now, and continue their Venatori hunt in the morning.

They headed towards camp. Maker, there was just so much _Nature._ It was... unnatural. If insects started biting him, he was going to throw a fit. At least there were tents at the Inquisition camp, so he’d be spared the discomfort of sleeping exposed to the elements. Unfortunately, there were only three tents available, which meant that someone had to share. And since the Inquisitor was the Inquisitor, this meant that he always had a tent to himself. Though Dorian secretly suspected that Trevelyan just didn’t want to spend a night in a small, stifling tent with Bull – who clearly hadn’t bathed in _days._

However, Dorian was cheered by the news that there were natural hot springs nearby. Although neither Sera nor Bull seemed interested in a hot bath, Dorian volunteered himself to go first.

The Inquisitor’s eyes laughed at him. “I’ll go after you, then,” he said. “I suppose you’ll also want me to water and rub down your horse?”

“A fine idea. Do enjoy it.”

Bull cocked the eyebrow over his good eye. “Someone really is spoiled,” he rumbled. “Hey, Boss – you can take care of my horse, too.”

“And mine!” Sera added. “I dunno nothin’ about watering horses. I thought waterin’ was for plants.”

The Inquisitor laughed softly. “Fine, but only if you two put the stew on.” He dropped the knapsack with the ingredients at Bull’s feet. “Dorian, could you start the campfire before you go? And – oh, wait, I have something for you.”

Dorian shot a tongue of flame to the unlit wood, igniting it, then waited as the Inquisitor rummaged around in a different pack. A moment later, Dorian was accepting a smooth, purple brick that smelled of lavender.

“Well!” Dorian said. “It’s good to know that _someone_ around here is acquainted with soap.”

Sera frowned. “Is that the shit that makes you smell like flowers? Inquisitors should _not_ smell like freakin’ flowers. Jus’ something wrong with it.”

“It’s relaxing,” Max said. “Helps me sleep at night.” Then: “And it’s not like there’s anyone in my bed to complain about what I smell like.”

Dorian found that difficult to believe. Listening to talk at Skyhold, there was practically a _line_ of women willing to stab each other in the back for a chance to jump into the Inquisitor’s bed.

“Speaking of your bed, Boss,” Bull said slyly. “You Templars – you take a vow of chastity?”

A beat. Then the Inquisitor smirked. “I’m going to water the horses now.”

***

When Max returned after he’d finished tending to the horses, the camp was empty.

At first, he felt a moment of panic. His companions were missing. Perhaps some stray Venatori had come along and kidnapped them. Or they’d been taken by rogue slavers. Or maybe a dragon had swooped down to eat them. But after a second look, he realized that there was no sign of a skirmish. In fact, the campfire still burned, and hanging over it was a small pot of simmering stew that exuded a homey scent of rabbit, potatoes and rosemary.

Max considered his options, then followed the narrow path towards the hot springs.

He was three-quarters the way down the slope when he spotted Bull and Sera, crouched low in the tall grass. “What are you–?”

Sera shushed him, then grabbed him by the hem of his shirt, jerking him down beside them in the grass.

He followed their gazes to the springs.

Dorian was in the water. He was crouched down below the surface, so for a moment, all they could see was his head, hair wet and dark as pitch. Then he stood.

Rivulets of water ran down his bronze-skinned back. His hair a heavy coil, resting in the furrow of his spine. Back narrowed into a small, waspish waist before blooming out again into wide hips. The Inquisitor focused on Dorian’s long, sleek arms, trying not to notice how spectacular Dorian’s ass was, heart-shaped, firm, and begging to be bitten.

The Inquisitor murmured to the others. “What you’re doing is reprehensible.”

“She’s pretty in places,” Sera said. “Wish she’d show us her tits, though. I bet they’re nice. Like ripe melons.”

“He, Sera,” Bull corrected gently. “His.”

“Enough,” the Inquisitor hissed. “Back to camp. That’s an order if it needs to be.”

Sera and Bull made faces, then reluctantly rose.

A twig snapped.

In the water, Dorian spun about.

Everyone got an eyeful. Long throat. Perfect hourglass figure. Full breasts, riding high and pert, round as moons, tipped with coffee-colored areolae. Below, a soft swell of feminine belly, and sleek, strong thighs. And, in-between, that dark, triangular patch of hair, neatly trimmed.

Noticing them, Dorian’s expression darkened. “ _Vishante kaffas!”_ he growled, then gave an angry wave of his hand, manifesting magic. A heartbeat later, the grass surrounding them burst into flame.

Sera yowled. Bull and the Inquisitor rushed to put out the fire.

They had just finished stamping out the last of the flames when Dorian stomped his way over to them, hastily dressed, and still wringing the water out of his long hair. “Why, the nerve–!” he sputtered. “Watching me–!” He growled in exasperation. “Do you have any idea how that makes me feel?”

“Sorry,” Sera mumbled.

“Yeah, we fucked up,” Bull said softly.

Dorian’s fiery gaze whipped over to the Inquisitor.

Max quickly raised his hands in a defensive gesture. _“I_ wasn’t the one spying on you.”

“So you just happened to innocently stumble upon me while I was naked?” Dorian snapped. “That doesn’t make it any less embarrassing! Or fair.”

The Inquisitor considered that. “You’re right,” he said softly.

The Inquisitor then proceeded to unbuckle his armor, letting it fall into a small pile on the still-smoking ground. Next came boots. Socks. Shit, the ground was still hot.

Everyone stared at him.

“What – what are you doing?” Dorian stammered.

The Inquisitor smiled softly. “I said I would bathe after you. So I’m taking a bath. If anyone wants to watch me do it – then stay. Or leave – it’s your choice.”

Sera squealed. “What? You’re gettin’ naked? Urgh. Leaving.”

The elf quickly scampered away.

The Inquisitor swept off his shirt and let it drop to the pile before unlacing his pants.

Dorian eyed Bull. “You’re actually staying?”

“And miss this? How many opportunities do you think I’m gonna get to see what the Inquisitor is hiding under his armor?”

“I... didn’t think you’d be, ah, _interested_ in that.”

“If you’re asking me to make a distinction about what I like and what I don’t like – I like _pretty.”_

Pants were down. And, then, finally small clothes.

Without a scrap of clothing, or a scrap of shame, the Inquisitor reached up to let down his hair. He even flexed his muscles a little as he did it. Let his companions’ eyes drink him in for a moment.

So many muscles. Dorian wondered what he’d look like sun-kissed and oiled. His skin was almost ghostly pale, vibrant against the dark night. His arms and legs were covered with a fair amount of dark hair, but his chest was smooth, with small, pink nipples. His abdomen was hard and well-defined. Dorian couldn’t help himself – his eyes traveled from the very dark trail of hair that began at his navel to the treasure below.

The Inquisitor’s cock was beautiful. And – _Maker, if it’s that big limp... what in the Void must it look like hard?_

Shaking out his hair, Trevelyan gave them a saucy smile before walking down to the springs.

Maker, even his ass was sublime.

“Not bad,” Bull murmured appreciatively. Then he cocked his head at Dorian. “Would you feel better if you saw me naked, too?”

“I think I’ve seen enough naked men for the moment,” Dorian muttered.

He’d never thought he’d ever say _those_ words.

“Let’s just go back to camp before Sera burns our dinner.”

***

After dinner, cards, and drinks, the Inquisitor retired to his tent.

He was tired. Yet, when he closed his eyes, he kept picturing Dorian’s body as he stood in the water, wet and glistening in the moonlight. Worse, he was imagining himself in the water beside Dorian, trailing his hands over Dorian’s bronze skin. He could almost feel the heft of Dorian’s breasts cupped in his hands. The taste of Dorian’s mouth. Dorian’s legs opening to him, offering the Inquisitor his wet heat.

The Inquisitor’s eyes snapped open. _What, in Andraste’s name, is wrong with me?_

In truth, his bed _had_ been empty for a long time. Since becoming Herald, things had become weird between him and the women he encountered. Either they truly believed he was chosen by Andraste and wanted to touch something divine, or they were tantalized by his position of power. The latter just wanted to use him, and he didn’t have the heart to use the former.

Maker, things had been easier when he’d just been a Templar. Even though he was noble-born, as the fifth child he was practically guaranteed to never inherit. Most of the women he’d had in his bed were there because they’d wanted some fun with a strapping and handsome young Templar, or there had been some feelings between them. Everything consensual. Mutual.

It bothered him that he was fantasizing about Dorian. He wished that Dorian were actually a woman. Physically, Dorian _was_ attractive. He _liked_ Dorian. And Dorian didn’t give a rat’s ass about Max being Inquisitor. If anything happened, it would be consensual.

Not that anything would ever happen - Max just automatically assumed that Dorian liked _women._ Yes, Dorian flirted with him. But Dorian flirted with everyone, male and female alike. So it didn’t even occur to Max that Dorian’s tastes might not be so conventional.

Max sighed. Whether he liked it or not, there was no way he was going to sleep until he played out that fantasy. Thank the Maker he had a tent to himself. Unlacing his pants, he slid his hand inside.

He’d barely begun touching himself when an angry shout broke into his reverie.

In a flash, he’d tucked himself away, grabbed his sword, and clambered out of the tent.

From his own tent, Bull’s head poked out.

Dorian and Sera were facing each other near the smoldering campfire. Confronting Dorian’s anger, Sera looked bewildered.

“Stop touching me as if I’m one of your needy paramours!” Dorian snapped. “I have never been a woman, and I will never _be_ a woman!”

Dorian’s arms were over his breasts.

Protectively.

Given the large number of hot-blooded recruits under Cullen’s watch, he and the Inquisitor had decided on a strict policy against unwanted advances. They wanted Skyhold to be a safe place for everyone. So Cullen had hammered the policy into the soldiers’ heads. No touching or kissing without explicit permission, and _no_ meant _no._ However, apparently Max should have been hammering it into his own inner circle, as well.

“Sera!” In another flash, the Inquisitor was between them. “Do I even need to ask what’s going on?”

Sera’s ears drooped. “I just... I dunno... I get it – really I do. Dorian’s a he. I didn’t mean to offend him – I just slip up sometimes. I can’t help it that he looks pretty. I like pretty things and he acts, you know, woman enough for me to forget. Ugh…that was bad of me. I’m sorry... I’ll fix it.”

Dorian continued to glare angrily. “You can fix it by fucking off!”

Sera pouted.

The Inquisitor snapped his name. “Dorian!”

Dorian turned on him, eyes still blazing fire. Blazing _hurt._

“Sera said she was sorry,” Max pointed out. “And, really, Dorian, don’t exaggerate. How bad is it that a pretty elf girl wanted to touch you? Most men I know wouldn’t mind that.”

_Maker... did he... did he really just say that? Is he that fucking insensitive? Or just ignorant?_

Dorian stared at the Inquisitor for a very long moment, clearly debating something. He seemed so conflicted that it alarmed the Inquisitor, prompting him to speak.

“Dorian...?”

Finally, Dorian sighed. “Try to understand how I feel, Inquisitor. Would you like it if everyone treated _you_ like a woman?”

Max considered that. Truthfully? No, he most certainly wouldn’t like it. “I see your point.”

“Good.”

The Inquisitor sighed. “All right, then. For tonight, at least, Dorian, you can have my tent. I’ll share with Bull.”

***

The next morning, the Inquisitor led them towards the next Venatori hideout.

Actually, Max wasn’t really leading. _Leading_ implied that his men were following behind him. Today, however, Dorian had insisted on walking by his side.

Sera and Bull trailed respectfully a short distance behind them, discussing what sounded like battle tactics. Though Max wasn’t sure that their tactics were _good._

Over breakfast, Sera had tried to reconcile with the mage. His only response had been a frosty glare.

As they walked, they didn’t speak. The Inquisitor was focused on seeking out the landmarks indicated on the map. _Was_ that the rocky crag he was searching for? Or did it just look similar? And why did all these peasant shacks look so much alike? Though, every now and then, Dorian would grumble something unkind about Nature under his breath.

“Ugh. _Fucking_ thorns,” Dorian spat as his skirts got caught in some brambles alongside the path.

The Inquisitor sighed. Spoke low so the others wouldn’t overhear. “Dorian. For just how long, exactly, are you going to stay mad at Sera?”

Gray eyes snapped to meet his. “I don’t know,” he said, voice seething. “How long does it usually take to forgive someone who you thought was your friend, but, as soon as you’re alone together, tries to take advantage of your inebriated state?”

The Inquisitor’s brow furrowed. “I... oh. Since you put it that way...”

Dorian gave him a challenging stare.

“Well,” the Inquisitor mumbled. “Remind me not to try to take advantage of you the next time you’re drunk.”

Surprise flitted through Dorian’s eyes. Then his expression softened. He murmured softly, _“Nemo saltat sobrius.”_

The Inquisitor eyed him quizzically. “I don’t speak Tevene, you know.”

Dorian smiled for the first time that morning. Slyly. “I know.”

The Inquisitor snorted a laugh. “I don’t suppose you’re going to tell me what it means.”

“Not today, no.”

They smiled at each other.

Then the Inquisitor exhaled deeply. “Look. If you need to be angry, then be angry. But I don’t think Sera meant to be insensitive. She tends to run on instinct. Thinking things through – well, really not her strong point.”

Dorian’s lips twitched up. “Yes, I did notice that.”

They continued walking along in silence. Only now, Dorian had ceased his grumbling.

A few clearings later, Dorian’s ears perked up at the conversation behind him.

“I don’t get why he don’t just change back. He _is_ a mage,” Sera was saying. “Can’t he just... you know, Ffffwoooo! All better? No more lady bits and everyone’s happy.”

“I don’t think it’s that easy, Sera,” Bull said. “He’d have done it by now if he could. Dorian isn’t the type to let himself be uncomfortable longer than he has to be.”

Well, that much was true. Discomfort – really not this thing.

The Inquisitor, curious, stopped to watch as Dorian turned, taking a few steps towards the others.

Sera’s pale blue eyes widened with trepidation.

“Bull’s right,” Dorian said. “I’ve already tried to find a way to fix what’s been done. But the only way to correct blood magic is to use _more_ blood magic... and in case neither one of you noticed, I am _not_ a blood mage. Nor do I plan on becoming one.”

“That’s... good, yeah?” Sera ventured. “Not wantin’ to use blood magic. That’s worse than the regular magic, innt? Like a kick in the bollocks. If you still had bollocks, I mean.”

Dorian’s mouth twitched. Then he smiled. “Yes, Sera. Blood magic is like a kick in the bollocks.”

“Okay. Good.” Sera paused, chewing on her lip. “Then... friends? I promise I’ll try not to feel up your tits again.”

“Fair,” Dorian said slowly. “But my ass is also off limits.”

“Pfft! You’re no fun at all!”

The Inquisitor gave a loud whistle. “Okay, now, children. Playtime is over. We still have some evil Tevinter cultists to kill.”

 


	6. The Exalted Plains

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Inquisitor... even if a man changes... it doesn’t mean he can escape his past.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter is so short! I just thought we needed a little Blackwall, and a bit about the Inquisitor's time as a Templar.

Two weeks later, they were in the Exalted Plains.

The forests were thick, viridescent, tall grasses blooming with prickly rashvine and red-berried dragonthorn. Scattered everywhere were impassable outcroppings of stone, rising like dragon teeth, mixed in with toppled archways and broken bridges. Rivers wound like angry serpents through the landscape, their banks alternating between sandy and verdant.

As Bull and Blackwall trailed behind, conversing about swords, Dorian walked at the Inquisitor’s side, examining the landscape.

“Reminds me of when Mother would take me boating, in the summer,” Dorian remarked. “Well, she had the servants take me on the boat while she sat inside with a cool drink.”

“At least you went boating,” the Inquisitor said. “According to my parents, that activity was a bit too frivolous.”

“Your parents sound dreadfully dull,” Dorian decided. “Religious?”

Max nearly choked on a laugh. _“That’s_ an understatement.”

“Then... that’s why you chose to become a Templar?”

“I didn’t really have a choice,” Max revealed. “It’s a Trevelyan family tradition. First sons or daughters tend to inherit. The second child actually has some choice in the matter – it’s enough that they remain worthy of running the family, if it ever comes down to it. But third or fourth children are expected to give themselves in a lifetime of service, either as sisters in the Chantry or as Templars.”

Dorian cocked his head. “You make it sound like slavery.”

The Inquisitor smiled. “Don’t get me wrong. I had many good friends among the Templars. Plus it turned out that I’m rather good with a sword. So it wasn’t terrible.”

Dorian’s look was skeptical. Before he could respond, however, he overstepped a rock, only to end up tripping over his own skirt.

Moving gracefully, Max caught Dorian by the arm, righting him.

“Ugh,” Dorian murmured. “You know, you could have warned me how much ‘traipsing through Nature’ there would be _before_ we started hunting down the Venatori.”

The Inquisitor’s eyes sparkled with repressed laughter. “You could just wear pants, Dorian.”

“I...” Dorian began, then grimaced. “Next time – perhaps I shall.”

Bull and Blackwall had closed some of the distance.

“I guess I’d go with Dawnstone,” Bull was saying.

“Dawnstone?” Blackwall was surprised. “That's even more brittle than Bloodstone.”

“Yeah,” he rumbled. “Really damn pretty, though.”

“It’s pink.”

“It’s pretty.”

Blackwall stared at the Qunari for a moment. Then he heaved a deep sigh. “Perhaps we could change the subject?”

“Sure,” Bull said. “We can talk about something else. How about what a cute couple those two make?”

Dorian and the Inquisitor exchanged a glance. In Dorian’s expression, a prompt for him to say something.

“We’re just friends, Bull,” the Inquisitor said.

“Never thought I’d see the day where a Templar and a mage were friends,” Blackwall remarked to Bull. “Considering relations between the two factions have never been good.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard stories,” Bull said. “Mostly the kind where Templars lock up mages in Circles, then torture and rape them whenever they start acting up.”

“I’m not condoning that by any means,” Blackwall said, “but the mages I’ve met do tend to be dangerous enough that being locked up is the best option.”

Dorian trilled. “Mage right here!”

The men ignored him.

“Hey, Boss. You were in the Circle, right?”

The Inquisitor’s response was reluctant. “For about fifteen years. Yes.”

“So. What was _really_ going on in the Circles?”

The Inquisitor paused. Smoothed back his hair. “Honestly? I have heard rumors about what went on in some of the other Circles. Things in Kirkwall became particularly bad. But the Ostwick Circle wasn’t like that. During the rebellion, it was one of the only Circles to remain neutral. Relatively speaking, it was actually rather sedate. No rape or torture, as far as I know.”

“No,” Dorian snarked. “Just oppression and intimidation.”

Max paused. Grimaced. “I’m not a Templar anymore, Dorian. Don’t judge me for whatever you think I _might_ have done, based on other men’s deeds,” he said flatly. “If you have to judge me, judge me for the man I am _now.”_

“I...” Dorian began, and then faltered. “Yes. Of course.”

Blackwall looked thoughtful. “Inquisitor... even if a man changes... it doesn’t mean he can escape his past.”

For a moment, a look of panic flashed across the Inquisitor’s features. Then his face smoothed out again. “I have nothing in my past to be ashamed of.”

“Forgive me,” Blackwall said quickly. “I wasn’t implying that you had. That was more of a generalization.” His eyes skittered over to Dorian. “I ask your forgiveness, too, milady. We shouldn’t have spoken of such things in front of you.”

Before Dorian could launch into his diatribe about how he was _not a woman_ , Bull had swooped down and seized Blackwall in a headlock.

“He’s a him,” Bull growled. “Get it through your thick skull.”

Dorian’s lips curled into a pleased smile.

“Enough!” the Inquisitor snapped. Bull suddenly released the Grey Warden, who took a quick step to the side, rubbing at his neck. “We have Venatori to kill, so I suggest we move on.”


	7. A Letter from Tevinter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If he were stuck with this body forever... would he be able to learn to love it? Or, at least, tolerate it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know what this story needs? Some Cremisius Aclassi, of course.

The had rooted out and killed the last of the lingering Venatori in the Exalted Plains before returning to Skyhold.

Dorian didn’t see the Inquisitor for a few days. Still, he managed to pass the time in the library during the day, sorting through a recent arrival of new books, and then at the tavern inn the evenings with Sera, Varric, or Bull and his Chargers. He’d also spent a whole evening just conversing with Krem in Tevene over a game of cards.

Krem identified as a man, but had been born in a woman’s body. Not exactly the same as Dorian’s situation, but no one else even came close to understanding Dorian’s plight.

“You know,” Krem said, once they were deep in their cups, “if you can’t change back... you might need to learn how to accept it.”

“It feels _wrong,”_ Dorian said. “How am I possibly supposed to accept this? Every time I look in the mirror, I...”

Krem waited for him to finish. Then filled in when he didn’t. “You hate yourself.”

Dorian considered that. “No. ‘Hate’ is too strong a word. Having these... parts... it’s rather... disturbing...”

Krem waited.

“...and sort of... disgusting.”

Krem cocked an eyebrow. “Disturbing and disgusting? That sounds kinda like hate.”

Defeated, Dorian slumped in his chair. “I... I don’t _want_ to accept it. I want to be my old self again.”

Krem fiddled with his cards. “And how long have you been looking for a way to change back?”

Dorian had been trying to figure that out since the ritual. He hadn’t spent every single waking minute looking for a solution, but... he’d consulted every enchanter of consequence who’d been willing to speak to him. “Just over two years now.”

Crinkles appeared around Krem’s eyes as he looked at the mage.

“Tell me, Cremisius... are you really fine being trapped in the wrong body?”

“Yeah,” Krem said. “The way I look at it... I know who I am. It’s how I feel, inside, that counts. What’s outside... it ain’t ideal, but my body doesn’t define _me.”_

Dorian was quiet, reflecting on what Krem had just said. If he were stuck with this body forever... would he be able to learn to love it? Or, at least, tolerate it?

Then Dorian laughed. “You know what I miss, Cremisius? Pissing as a man. So much better. Wherever you are, you simply just take it out and conduct you business. No lifting of skirts, dropping drawers, awkward crouching, and the requisite personal hygiene after.”

Krem smirked. “Yeah, that would be more convenient.”

In that moment, the door of the tavern opened, and the Inquisitor walked in.

The Inquisitor never came to the tavern. Usually because he was too busy running the Inquisition. Dorian knew just how many late nights the Inquisitor usually spent every week with his advisers at the War Table. So it was somewhat surprising to see him here.

Even more surprising was when the Inquisitor, despite having many admirers to choose from, made a bee-line for their table.

“Dorian. Krem. If I’m not interrupting... it’s been a while since I’ve played cards. May I join you?”

Dorian shifted to accommodate him while Krem pulled over another chair. As the Inquisitor sat, Dorian flagged down one of the tavern wenches. Max ordered a tankard of ale, then Krem gathered the cards to deal a new game.

Dorian considered the Inquisitor as he arranged the cards in his hand. He was dressed differently than usual tonight, in a white shirt under a rather fashionable, long dark jacket, dark pants, and riding boots polished to a high sheen. And his hair was down, freed from its usual ponytail.

“Any reason why you’re not dressed like a peasant for a change?”

Max quirked an eyebrow. “Is that what you think of how I normally dress?”

“Well, usually I just see you in your armor. _That’s_ rather impressive and shiny and all. But out of your armor, you tend to favor that one outfit – the one that looks like faded pajamas.”

Max snorted a soft laugh. “Okay. I see.” He paused to thank the tavern wench when she delivered his drink, smoothly ignoring the not-subtle way she batted her eyelashes at him. “Well, this outfit... Josephine and I had a meeting with the Nevarran ambassador this evening. Strictly formal.”

“Your turn, Inquisitor,” Krem prompted.

Max set down his drink, then drew from the pile, considering the card before discarding it.

“So...” Dorian said. “Have you considered my suggestion to help Maevaris?”

Maevaris Tilani – a magister from Dorian’s hometown of Qarinus, who was attempting to quell Venatori activity in Tevinter. “I’ve discussed it with the advisers.”

“And?”

“Josephine suggests that the Inquisition declares our support openly. Leliana, of course, prefers a more... secretive approach. Though I prefer Cullen’s suggestion of sending a few Templars – in disguise – to offer aid.”

A smile danced upon Dorian’s lips. “Do you _always_ do whatever Cullen tells you to?”

“Really, it’s the other way around – Cullen does whatever _I_ tell him to do.”

“Well,” Dorian drawled coquettishly. “It must be nice to have a young, strapping Templar beneath you, following your every order.”

The Inquisitor met his gaze for a moment, then broke out into a sly grin. “If you want to know how it feels to have a young, strapping Templar beneath you, Dorian, I’m sure we can arrange something.”

That gave Dorian pause. Was the Inquisitor actually _flirting_ with him? “Well, that’s a rather... intriguing idea.”

“Dorian,” Krem prompted. “Your turn.”

Smiling to himself, Dorian reached for the draw pile.

He wasn’t quite listening as Krem asked the Inquisitor if he had any job prospects for the Chargers. Nor was he listening to the Inquisitor’s reply of possible tasks for them. No, all he could think about was the fact that the Inquisitor, the most gorgeous man he’d seen in many years, might possibly be flirting with him.

Harmless flirting, of course, but still...

Play continued around the table for a few rounds.

Krem and Dorian ordered another drink.

“So,” Dorian said as he caught Max’s eye. “According to Varric, your sword has a name. Is that true?”

The Inquisitor smiled. “Well... yes, it does, actually.”

“Now I’m curious. What is the name of the Inquisitor’s mighty sword?”

The smile turned into a smirk. “That’s private information,” he teased. “I only share the name of my ‘sword’ with my lovers.”

Dorian raised an eyebrow. Oh, that was definitely a sexual innuendo and the Inquisitor was _definitely_ flirting with him now. He laughed. “Cheeky!”

The Inquisitor continued to smile at him. “As if you don’t have a name for your staff.”

“You’ll note that I don’t have my staff at the moment,” Dorian said. True in all senses, as his magic staff was safely stowed away in his room. “Shame, that. I’m quite good at using it.”

“I don’t doubt that, Dorian,” the Inquisitor said. “I’ve seen you move.”

“So, you’ve been watching me, then,” Dorian murmured.

The Inquisitor’s voice became soft. “Bull’s not the only one who likes pretty things.”

Seriously, he was about to swoon. Or lose all his coin, because he’d stopped paying attention to the game.

_Maker, this man..._

Krem tried to put a finger on why, exactly, the Inquisitor flirting with Dorian was bothering him. Maybe it was because Dorian was rather drunk, and the idea of some man taking advantage of the mage – even if it were the Inquisitor – set his nerves on edge.

On second thought, the fact that it was the Inquisitor made it worse. The man was a Templar. From Bull’s stories about Dorian in battle, Krem was certain that Dorian could defend himself against most threats. But Templars had the ability to suppress magic. Krem believed that the Inquisitor was a decent man, but during his stint in the Imperial Army, he’d seen good men do terrible things – particularly to women. If the Inquisitor were to ever go too far... then Dorian would be unable to defend himself.

Krem set his tankard down, so hard it rattled the table. “Are you two going to continue exchanging sexual innuendos, or are you going to play cards?”

The Inquisitor flinched at Krem’s fire. Then cleared his throat. “Oh... ah... we can play cards,” he said.

***

A few days later, the Inquisitor climbed the stairs to the library, where Dorian was arranging books. Again.

Max held out the sheet of parchment. “Dorian. There’s a letter you need to see. From your father.”

Perplexed, Dorian accepted the letter and began to read.

The Inquisitor watched the array of emotions as they flitted across Dorian’s face.

He didn’t know, exactly, what had transpired between Dorian and his family. Dorian didn’t want to talk about it, and Max didn’t press for details. All he knew was that _something_ had caused Dorian to leave behind a life of luxury, and by Magister Halward’s letter, it was clear that Dorian had rebuked all efforts to reconcile. So there was no way he was going to follow Mother Giselle’s suggestion that he bring Dorian to meet his family’s retainer in secret.

Dorian lowered the hand holding the letter. He made a noise of exasperation. “I’m willing to bet this ‘retainer’ is a henchman, hired to knock me on the head and drag me back to Tevinter.”

“Would your father actually do that?”

Dorian laughed bitterly. “You have no idea what my father is capable of.”

In the Inquisitor’s eyes: questions which Dorian did not want to answer.

“Let’s go. Let’s go meet this so-called ‘family retainer.’”

“You want me to go with you?”

“Yes. I think you’d be most useful. Just in case we actually arrive at the whole ‘knocking Dorian on the head’ part.”

The Inquisitor considered. “All right. I’ll need to speak with Josephine first, but, barring any emergencies, we can leave for Redcliff tomorrow.”

***

Dorian had already packed for the trip. Except that, sitting in his room, not doing anything else, he couldn’t stop fretting over his father’s letter. In it, his father had told the Reverend Mother that he just wanted to talk to Dorian. But, really, what was there to talk about? Did he think that Dorian would just come back to Tevinter and pretend that everything was fine? After the unforgivable things he had done?

Restless, Dorian decided to go out. Perhaps one of his friends could distract him.

He tried the Herald’s Rest first. But Sera wasn’t in her room, nor was there anyone else in the tavern with whom Dorian was on good terms. Swallowing down that little pang of disappointment, Dorian exited the tavern and made his way across the training yard.

Unsurprisingly, Krem and Bull were at the opposite end, sparring with one another. As Dorian crossed the yard towards them, a loud wolfish whistle pierced the air.

“Hey, beautiful,” one of the soldiers called out. “Why don’t you come over here and sit on my face?”

Ugh. Traveling alone, Dorian had been subjected to comments of this kind all of the time. He’d come to the conclusion that it was mostly better to ignore them, and keep moving.

Of course, sometimes ignoring them only elicited another remark. Angered now, the man shouted at Dorian’s back. “Stuck-up Tevinter _bitch.”_

Bull and Krem, who had stopped sparring, now exchanged a glance. Then they both moved.

In a moment, they were nearly on top of the man who had catcalled Dorian.

“Hey, asshole,” Bull grumbled. “Watch your damn mouth.”

Stunned, Dorian watched, barely blinking, as Bull and Krem pummeled the man until he was a heap of bruised flesh, moaning pathetically on the ground.

Maker... that was... unexpected.

Krem was unusually serious as he approached. “Hey. I think we should talk. Come to the bar?”

“Ah... of course.”

Dorian trailed after the Charger. Back into the tavern. At the bar, Krem ordered two tankards of ale, one which he passed to Dorian before they went and sat in Krem’s usual corner near the stairs.

Dorian sipped at his drink. It was weak ale. Of course, finding a good drink at Skyhold was never easy. And he waited.

“You know,” Krem finally said. “Shit like that – guys who bother you – you don’t have to put up with it.”

“Oh? And what, exactly, am I supposed to do, Cremisius? Blast a man with magic just because he makes some vulgar remark? As if people don’t already have enough bad things to say about me.”

“That’s not what I meant.” Krem’s eyes narrowed. “I meant that you could try looking... less feminine.”

Dorian blinked. “Less... feminine?”

“Yeah. You know. Cut your hair. Wear men’s clothing. If you want, I could help you. Show you how to bind. Your face is real pretty, so you might have trouble passing, but... it might lessen all the attention you get.”

Dorian considered that. He was aware that Krem was only trying to be helpful. “Thank you for the offer, but... no. I’m not going to pretend that... well, that this thing that happened to me didn’t actually happen. I don’t see the point in trying to hide it. It’s just... well, it’s just an unfortunate mishap of magic gone wrong. Hiding it makes it seem like I’m ashamed of it. It wasn’t my fault. I didn’t ask for this. I don’t want to feel ashamed.”

Krem stared at Dorian for a long time, clearly mulling over what he’d said. “Yeah, I get it,” he finally said. “But if you ever change your mind...”

 


	8. Reunion in Redcliff

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I prefer the company of men. My father disapproves.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A road trip full of sexual tension, a little magic, and one disapproving father. I hope you enjoy!

Dorian and the Inquisitor rode to Redcliff, just the two of them.

Dorian had been surprised when he’d met the Inquisitor early at the stables on the morning they left. Usually the Inquisitor never went anywhere without his entourage. In addition to a mage, there was always at least one archer and another swordsman.

However, they encountered no trouble along the road, and Dorian was not displeased to have the Inquisitor all to himself. Trevelyan was now his captive audience, and thus forced to hang on Dorian’s every word.

The entire trip they talked about every subject under the sun. Talked as if they had been best friends forever. Talking with Max was so... easy. Comfortable. Even though the Inquisitor wasn’t quite as flirtatious as he’d been at Skyhold – though perhaps that was just due to the fact that they were now alone?

On the third night of travel, they stopped at a well-known inn along the way, one that catered to merchants and wealthy travelers.

“I do hope the Inquisition is paying for this,” Dorian murmured as his eyes skimmed over the prices on the menu as they sat in the restaurant attached to the inn.

Max chuckled. “Yes. So order whatever you want.” When he noticed Dorian’s eyes light up, he quickly added, “Oh, but please don’t ask for any of the wines on the second page. I don’t know how I could possibly explain that sort of expense to Josephine.”

“Very well,” Dorian agreed, tone chipper now that he was finally going to have a decent meal for the first time in _months._ “We should get a bottle of this: _Spiritus Draco._ It’s a rather pleasant red wine from Perivantium. And surprisingly affordable, given the quality. Plus, it has quite a strong kick to it, so one bottle should settle us nicely.”

Max smiled with relief. Then, later, smiled with indulgence at Dorian’s glee when the food and drink finally arrived and Dorian tucked in.

“Dorian,” Max said with a laugh after the dessert arrived. “You realize that the expression on your face, it’s... well, it’s practically obscene.”

“No, really, this torte is _divine._ You _must_ try some.”

“I’m not really a fan of chocolate,” he admitted.

“Then there is something inherently _wrong_ with you,” Dorian muttered. “Well, more for me, then. And pour us the rest of the wine.”

Max gracefully uncorked the bottle, then refilled their glasses.

“So,” Dorian said as he twirled the stem of his glass between his fingers. “Tell me more about the Trevelyans.”

“Such as?”

“You were a Templar, so... you were either a third or fourth son, yes?”

“Fifth, actually. I’m the youngest of five. Two brothers and two sisters.”

Dorian leaned his elbow on the table, chin on fist. His eyes were hazy with wine. “Must be nice. Having all those siblings.”

The Inquisitor snorted a laugh. “Not when you’re the youngest. Being the youngest means that you’re the brunt of everyone’s frustrations. That everyone bosses you around.”

Dorian snickered. “Well, then, things have changed, what with you being the leader of the Inquisition, and all.”

“Yes. Which now means I’m the brunt of the frustrations of everyone in Thedas.”

 _Poor little Inquisitor,_ he thought, but opted not to tease him. Dorian had heard it: a hint of self-deprecation in Max’s tone. “Still, it can’t be all bad being you. I was an only child. And thus the repository of all my parents’ hopes and dreams.”

“Ah,” the Inquisitor said. “I hadn’t really thought about that. You must have been under a great deal of pressure.”

Dorian smiled. But it wasn’t very convincing. Then he took another sip of wine. “Tell me something else about your family.”

Max thought for a moment. “Do you know the Trevelyan family motto?” When Dorian shook his head, Max told him. “Modest in Temper, Bold in Deed.”

Dorian’s mouth opened wide as he laughed. “Oh, Maker!” he gasped, still laughing. “That fucking suits you.”

The Inquisitor raised an eyebrow.

They’d finished their wine. The Inquisitor beckoned to the waiter, then paid the bill. “It’s late. I’ll accompany you to your room.”

Dorian teetered a bit as he rose from his chair. Well, they had polished off an entire bottle of _Spiritus Draco,_ after all. He was only vaguely aware of the Inquisitor’s hand resting lightly just under his elbow as the man escorted him out of the restaurant, back through the inn, and up the stairs to Dorian’s room. Where he fumbled with the key.

His eyes laughing, the Inquisitor gracefully slipped the key from Dorian’s fingers. “Allow me.”

He unlocked the door, then dropped the key back into Dorian’s palm.

Dorian teetered a bit, then balanced himself with his free hand on the door frame, looking at Max. Resisted the sudden urge to reach up and loosen the ribbon that kept the heavy, raven-black hair tied back in a dusty tail. “You know,” Dorian said. “You’re absolutely gorgeous.”

The Inquisitor was entirely aware that they were both rather drunk, that they were standing at the door to Dorian’s room, and that they were completely alone, several days ride from Skyhold.

He wished... Maker, how he wished that Dorian were actually a woman.

The Inquisitor leaned to his left, hip and shoulder against the wall. He wanted to tell Dorian that he was beautiful, but he suspected that the mage would be offended. “Dorian? What did you look like? Before, I mean. As a man.”

“Devastatingly handsome, of course,” Dorian said with a smile. “And I was far more muscular. Maker knows why the demon changed my nose. You should have seen my nose – it was positively aristocratic. Oh, and I used to have a penis. Miss that.”

The Inquisitor choked back a laugh. “Maker, Dorian. The things you say...”

Dorian considered the Inquisitor. Flames, he _was_ handsome. The image of the Inquisitor, at the hot springs, naked, muscles flexing, rose up out of his memory. If he were back in Tevinter, he’d just invite the man into his room.

The Inquisitor leaned closer to him. Hovered for a moment. Then backed away again. “We’ll be in Redcliff tomorrow,” he said. “I should let you get some sleep.”

As the Inquisitor retreated, Dorian stumbled into his room. Locked the door behind him. Then stripped off his outer garments before slipping into the cold sheets.

Except that, thinking about the meeting with his father’s retainer tomorrow, he couldn’t sleep.

And when he thought about the Inquisitor, he felt an itch. A familiar, yet not familiar, ache, down between his legs.

He rolled onto his back. Threw both arms over his head. He hadn’t had sex in nearly three years. Not since his father’s thugs had dragged him out of Abrexis’ bed. And certainly not since the spell that had changed his body. All things considered, it was better not to think of such things. And so he hadn’t.

At least until he’d met Maxwell Trevelyan.

 _That man_... He made Dorian wonder about what it would be like. To have sex as a woman.

The thought of him having sex with his female body was in equal parts daunting and frightening. And what if – _Andraste forbid!_ – he became pregnant? Just the thought of _that_ made Dorian want to curl up and shudder with revulsion.

No. Better not to risk it.

Rolling onto his side, Dorian punched the pillow, and groaned in exasperation.

***

The following afternoon, they arrived at Redcliff.

Dorian tried to ignore the nervous flutters in his stomach as he and the Inquisitor entered the Gull and Lantern. Flutters which only increased when he realized that the tavern was completely empty. Not even the barkeep was in sight.

That didn’t bode well.

“Dorian.”

Dorian knew that voice. He turned to see the familiar ran descending the stairs. “Father?” Not what he’d been expecting. “So the whole story about the ‘family retainer’ was just... a smoke screen?”

The Inquisitor hung back near the door, considering Magister Halward Pavus. He was a distinguished looking man, somewhere in his fifties. Handsome. Dressed impeccably in a very fine set of mage robes. Max quietly listened as Dorian’s father tried to explain. But Dorian was having none of it.

This was very uncomfortable. And none of Max’s business. “I should leave you to work this out...”

“Oh, no you don’t,” Dorian’s voice snapped before the Inquisitor could slip out the door. “I want a witness. I want someone to hear the truth.”

Max dropped his hand from the door latch. “The truth?”

Halward tried to raise another protest. “Dorian, there’s no need to –”

“I prefer the company of men. My father disapproves.”

“The... what?”

“Did I stutter? Men, and the company thereof. As in sex. Surely you’ve heard of it.”

 _Oh._ “So that’s what all of this is about? Who you sleep with?”

“That’s not _all_ it’s about.” Dorian turned, striding angrily forward towards the man. “ _He_ taught me to hate blood magic. The resort of the weak mind. Those are _his_ words. But what was the first thing you did when your precious heir refused to play pretend for the rest of his life? You _changed_ me.”

“I didn’t mean for it to happen this way,” Halward said. “I only wanted what was best for you.”

“Best for me? You _knew_ , didn’t you? You knew I had feelings for that man. That’s why you chose him for your filthy ritual.” Dorian’s voice cracked. “You _killed_ him. In front of me. The man I _loved._ I can never forgive you for that. _Never._ ”

Understanding was a cold stone at the bottom of the Inquisitor’s stomach. What had happened to Dorian was terrible. Unforgivable. Reconciliation was impossible. This man didn’t deserve Dorian’s time. And Dorian had suffered enough.

Max placed a hand gently on Dorian’s shoulder. “I think it’s time we left.”

“I agree.”

They turned towards the door. But Halward’s voice stopped them.

“I’m sorry, Dorian. But I can’t let you go.”

It was strange – the Inquisitor thought later – how quickly things could go from being perfectly calm one moment, to a raging storm of battle the next.

Strange, too, how everything seemed to slow down. What was only seconds seemed to drag into minutes.

Dorian and Max turned to see the magister reach for his staff. Max was already moving, instinctively igniting the lyrium in his blood. He’d done this so many times; facing down a mage wasn’t like facing a foe with a sword – there was no time to think. No strategy. If he hadn’t been able to react instantaneously in situations like this, he would have been dead a dozen times over.

Max took another step, shoving Dorian behind him, as Halward Pavus swung his staff around, taking aim.

Dorian cursed as he staggered back. Then groped for his own staff.

Magical energy crackled as the spell shot across the room.

At the same time, Max held up the hand without the Anchor, as he suddenly began to glow with a eerie, blue, mystical light.

Dorian felt it – a strange tingling in his teeth – as the two bursts of magical energy collided in the middle of the room. The ensuing backlash knocked Halward off his feet. For a moment Dorian was too stunned to do anything. Even as his father, on his knees, lifted his staff again, trying to cast another spell.

And failing.

“Inquisitor...” Dorian sputtered in shock. “What... what have you done?”

“I’ve cleansed the area of magic,” he said.

Dorian blinked. He’d heard of the abilities of southern Templars before, but he’d never encountered them firsthand. “How long will this last?”

“For as long as I will it.”

Everything in the room felt _wrong._ Dorian decided he could think about how creepy that was later. Right now, he had a more pressing matter. “Kidnapping, Father? I should have known that would be your plan.”

Halward lowered his staff, sighing wearily. “You don’t belong with the Inquisition, Dorian. You belong in Tevinter. You’re still our child. And you can still marry and produce an heir. We have found you a suitable husband. One willing to overlook your... past.”

_Produce an heir...? Oh Maker, my father’s gone mad._

For the first time in his life, Dorian realized that not only could he kill his father, but perhaps that he should.

With a shriek, Dorian reached for the Inquisitor’s belt. Snatched the dagger out of its sheath. Surged forward like a tempest. Stopped before his father, staring down furiously into the widening gray eyes. “I refuse to be your fucking brood mare!”

Dorian raised the knife.

Stopped as the Inquisitor’s hand fell upon his shoulder.

Dorian’s eyes darted to his. “What? You’re going to stop me?”

The Inquisitor’s expression was grim. “No, but...” He sighed deeply. “Patricide isn’t something to be taken lightly, Dorian. Choose carefully.”

Dorian considered that for a very long time. In the Inquisitor’s eyes: _Please don’t do this._

Eventually Dorian heaved a heavy sigh as he lowered the dagger. “I... you’re right. I won’t lower myself to _his_ level.”

Carefully, the Inquisitor pried the dagger from his hand, then snapped it into the sheath at his belt, before sliding his arm around Dorian’s shoulders.

Without even a glance back at his father, Dorian allowed the Inquisitor to lead him out of the tavern.

***

They hadn’t gotten far from the Gull and Lantern when the Inquisitor collapsed.

Dorian automatically rushed forward to catch him. But the Inquisitor – in full metal armor – was no scrawny Chanty priest like Roderick had been.

 _Oof._ Dorian made a strange noise as the Inquisitor crashed into him. Dorian felt the hard metal plates slam into his skin. He’d have bruises later, for sure. Somehow, though, he managed to remain standing, though he was barely able to keep the ex-Templar upright.

“Inquisitor!”

Maker, Max’s head was light. His stomach sick. He muttered under his breath. “I shouldn’t have done it.”

“Done what?” Dorian demanded, still struggling under the Inquisitor’s weight. “What in the Void are you even talking about?”

Max straightened. Drew back from Dorian, though the mage was reluctant to completely release his hold. “Never mind... I’ll be fine.”

Dorian’s face was pinched with concern as he peered into Max’s. “You’re not fine!” he protested. “Something is seriously wrong with you.” Fretting, he scowled. “That’s it. I’m taking you to a healer.”

Dorian knew of a perfectly good healer from the time he’d spent in Redcliff. A young elven woman who would certainly appreciate the business. He tried to drag the Inquisitor along, but Max maintained his ground.

“I said I’ll be fine, Dorian,” the Inquisitor said softly. “I don’t need a healer.”

Dorian fretted again. “You are such a _frustrating_ man,” he growled. “Fine. But I know a little bit about healing.” He stepped closer, lifting his hands. “Let me use a little magic on you –”

Suddenly, the Inquisitor roared at him. “No!”

Dorian jolted back in alarm. He’d never heard the Inquisitor raise his voice before. He’d never even seen the man get angry. But, here he was, eyes flashing, and _shouting._ Shouting at Dorian. The mage was so shocked that all he could do was stare, speechless.

Then, just as suddenly, the flames in the Inquisitor’s gaze fizzled out, his shoulders slumping as if defeated. “Dorian. I’m sorry, I...” he trailed off with a sigh. “Let’s just go.”

***

On the way back to Skyhold, they stopped at the same merchants’ inn.

Upon arriving, they’d agreed to meet downstairs after they’d freshened up. In his room, Maxwell Trevelyan splashed some cold water on his face. Then sat on the bed for a few minutes, waiting for his hands to stop shaking, and thinking about what had happened with Dorian’s father.

Casting the Cleanse had taken a lot out of him.

Clearly, he wasn’t used to being a Templar anymore. If we were a Templar, he’d still be taking an infusion of lyrium every day. But when he’d become the Herald, he and Cullen had agreed to stop taking it.

Except that the Inquisitor was still taking it.

Occasionally.

This business with the Pavus “family retainer” – Max hadn’t liked it. Not knowing what to expect, he’d dosed himself in the morning.

Addiction – any excuse was a good excuse.

Still, he _had_ stopped Halward Pavus from casting his spell and possibly kidnapping Dorian. The only problem was that he’d burned up all the lyrium in his blood, which always left him sick, shaky, and paranoid.

He realized that Dorian was probably waiting for him.

Down in the restaurant, he didn’t see the mage, but the maître d’ recognized him. “Excuse me, serah. If you are looking for your companion, she is waiting for you in the gardens.”

 _He,_ Max thought vaguely, but followed the man’s indicating hands towards the doors that led to the gardens.

The smell of jasmine filled the air. Somewhere close by, a pool burbled. Surrounding the gardens was a low wall; Dorian sat upon it.

Dorian’s eyes crinkled with concern as Max eased himself down on the low wall beside the mage. “Are you really okay?”

The Inquisitor smiled. “Are you really that concerned?”

“Well, we can’t have the leader of the Inquisition just up and die, can we? I would have thought that obvious!”

“Don’t worry, Dorian. I’m not planning on dying anytime soon.”

“An excellent plan.”

The Inquisitor placed his hands on the wall, leaning forward to peer more closely into Dorian’s face. “Are _you_ okay?”

Dorian’s gaze saddened. “No. Not really.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Dorian lifted his chin, and contemplated the rose-covered trellises on the other side of the path.

“I think,” Dorian murmured, “my father should have been more specific about how exactly he wanted me to be changed.” He frowned. “He asked the demon to make it so I wouldn’t enjoy the company of my own sex anymore. To make me... _normal._ ” Dorian’s frown deepened. “I suppose he expected the demon to change my tastes, but it changed my body instead.”

The Inquisitor was thoughtful. “That isn’t so surprising, is it? I imagine that changing your body would be easier than changing your mind. Or your heart.”

"True. Changing my mind probably would have left me a drooling vegetable."

The Inquisitor hummed.

Dorian thought of that moment, when his father had been on his knees, as Dorian raised the dagger to strike a killing blow. “Maker knows what you must think of me now, after that whole display.”

“I think you’re very brave.”

Dorian looked at the Inquisitor. _This man..._ was he really so understanding? And how could he be so kind?

Dorian felt his heart so soft, melting like a stick of butter in the sun.

“Brave...?” he echoed.

Max tilted his head, studying Dorian. Maker, Dorian was beautiful in the moonlight, surrounded by roses. Max wanted... well, he wanted to kiss him.

He’d nearly done it last night, half-drunk and standing just outside of Dorian’s door. But he’d resisted, for the reason that he was sure that Dorian liked women.

Except now... now he knew that Dorian liked men.

 _Does he want to..?_ the Inquisitor wondered. _Does he want me to kiss him?_

The Inquisitor leaned closer. Dorian’s gaze was soft, questioning, almost innocent, but behind his eyes was a torrent of pain.

It occurred to the Inquisitor that this was a vulnerable moment for Dorian. And that he would be a cad to take advantage of it.

Max leaned back. “Perhaps we should go inside.”

“Yes,” Dorian agreed. “After everything that’s happened – I think it’s time I drank myself into a stupor.”

 


	9. Burnt Ozone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I don’t know if you’re aware, but the assumption in some corners is that you and I are... intimate.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dorian gets some pants. Help is offered. And Maxwell Trevelyan is a smooth operator.  
> I hope you enjoy!

He was fine about what had happened with his father in Redcliff. If by “fine” one meant angry, resentful, and hurt. But it wasn’t as if he was crying about it. No, Dorian wasn’t _crying._

Until he was.

He was alone in his room, at least, so no one saw him. Blood and damnation, he didn’t even know why he was crying. Now. Several days after their return to Skyhold.

The next morning he woke up with cramps.

Oh.

He should have known it was coming. He nearly always cried the day before the so-called “curse” arrived. In emotional overdrive, even the smallest thing could set him off. He always wondered if he had finally snapped and gone insane. But then he’d start having cramps, or find the tell-tale stains in his small clothes.

It had been nearly three years since the ritual, so he’d gone through this dozens of times. But this aspect of womanhood was still weird and unpleasant for him. A reminder that he had a functioning womb. That he could – by the mere act of having sex with a man – grow a new life inside him.

Dorian didn’t like to think about that. Which also meant that he was usually unprepared for it. Searching his room that morning, he realized that he’d run out of the appropriate feminine supplies.

There were women in the Inquisition, of course. He considered asking one of them.

Not Vivienne. Vivienne hated him, and the idea of asking her for help made his skin crawl.

Cassandra... ugh.

Josephine. Josephine was nice. Definitely the best choice.

He scurried off to Josephine’s office. But she wasn’t there, and none of the servants he encountered knew where he could find her.

Drat. Time was an issue. For Maker’s sake, he didn’t want to start bleeding through his petticoats. Which left Sera as the only feasible person he could ask.

Moments later, Sera was opening her door to him. She quirked her head at him. “Need somethin’?”

“Yes, actually. I need... you know, the things for that time of the month.”

“What time of the month is it?” Sera drawled. “Jam-eating contest? Bee races? Knitting circle? Plate spinning party?”

Dorian bit back a noise of exasperation. “I don’t even know what that last thing is. No, I mean the thing that women have.”

“What? Women don’t have jam-eating contests?”

Ugh. This time that noise of frustration escaped him. “I meant a woman’s _monthlies._ ”

Understanding lit up the elf’s pale eyes. “Oh, you’re on the rag, ‘cept you need a rag to be on,” she said knowingly. “Why didn’t you just say so in the first place?”

“I thought I did!”

Sera’s regarded him skepitcally. “Use diff’rent words next time. You know, words that actually make sense.”

“Fine,” Dorian muttered. “Can you help me or not?”

Sera smirked. “Yeah, I can set you up. Come in.”

Dorian entered. Let his gaze explore the room as Sera started searching in a dresser. Glancing at the open wardrobe, he noticed how it was overflowing with an array of dazzling fabrics. “Are all of those your clothes?”

Sera glanced over her shoulder, following his gaze. “Those? Oh, they ain’t for wearing. Red Jenny business, so... for sneakin’.”

Dorian thoughtfully rubbed his chin. “I see.”

Turning, Sera pressed the requested supplies into his hand. Then she smiled impishly at him. “Everyone’s sick of that black, buckly whatever-it-is you’re always wearing. Come back later, yeah? We’ll dress up you up right and proper, we will.”

***

In the evening, Dorian meandered over to the Herald’s Rest.

Where – to his surprise – he saw the Inquisitor sitting at a table with Solas.

Varric – this part was _not_ surprising – sat there with them.

Noticing Dorian, the Inquisitor’s face lit up. He enthusiastically waved Dorian over, then pulled up a chair for him before flagging down one of the serving wenches.

“Drinks are on me tonight,” Max said. “And I like your new outfit.”

“Sera’s doing. I felt like a full-sized Dorian doll. But I decided to take your advice on wearing pants.”

Max took another moment to appreciate Dorian’s new clothing. The bodice and pants he wore were both form-fitting, serving to accentuate Dorian’s rather ample curves, and the white tunic below the bodice looked wonderful against his dark skin.

If Sera’s intention had been to make Dorian look sexier – and, knowing Sera, that was a distinct probability – well, she’d succeeded brilliantly.

The serving wench arrived and asked Dorian for his order.

Dorian scanned the table. Before Varric a flagon of ale – probably that dwarven swill they usually kept on tap. A cup of tea – _they serve tea here?_ – sat in front of Solas. And before the Inquisitor, a glass of wine, red as rubies. “I’ll have what the Inquisitor is having,” Dorian told the girl.

Then Dorian glanced at the Inquisitor.

Became caught in the eyes that were pure, cool blue mountain lake water.

For a moment they just looked at each other. Gazes locked.

“So, Sparkler,” Varric said loudly. “How was your trip with the Inquisitor?”

Their gazes unlocked.

“He’s sitting right here,” Dorian pointed out. “You could just ask _him.”_

A smile tugged at Varric’s lips. “I did ask. But _he_ didn’t tell me anything.”

“Now, Varric,” Dorian teased. “He just did it to annoy you. He knows you hate not knowing everything.”

The Inquisitor’s eyes twinkled with mirth. “Don’t listen to him, Varric.”

“Yes, yes. Tease the dwarf. Everyone’s favorite pastime.”

“You don’t have to be so dour, my hairy little friend,” Dorian said lightly. “It was just a little family business. Nothing of import.”

“I think we need to work on your story-telling skills, Sparkler.”

Dorian’s wine arrived. Once again, the Inquisitor smoothly ignored how the girl batted her eyes at him. Taking a sip, Dorian was pleasantly surprised. “Wait... I swear this tastes just like _Spiritus Draco.”_

The Inquisitor’s lips curved into a little self-satisfied smile. “That’s because it is.”

“How did you...?”

“I have my ways.”

“If your ‘ways’ mean ‘Dorian getting whatever Dorian wants,’ then I wholeheartedly approve of them.”

“Speaking of things Dorian wants,” Solas said over his teacup. “I understand that you are looking for a way to reverse the spell that turned your body female.”

The bald elf looked so serene. Placid. Dorian suspected that Solas wasn’t plagued by any messy feelings such as passion. “I am,” he said reluctantly. “Why?”

Solas regarded him with cool calm. “Then, might I suggest you consider conferring with Madame de Fer and myself about seeking a solution?”

Dorian paused. “In case you hadn’t noticed, Vivienne and I are hardly friends.”

“I am certain that she would consider your unique situation – as a question of magical theory – a matter of academic interest.”

Dorian hesitated.

“Dorian,” the Inquisitor said with gentle encouragement. “If Solas and Viv can help you – perhaps you should let them.”

Dorian sighed inwardly. “Yes, you’re right.” His gaze trailed back to the elf. “Thank you, Solas. Your help would be much appreciated.”

For a while, the men conversed and drank. Every now and then, Dorian and the Inquisitor would lock gazes, then they would just stare at each other in mutual admiration.

_Well, well – Sparkler and the Inquisitor,_ Varric thought. He hadn’t seen  _that_ coming at all. Though, given how systematically the Inquisitor had rejected all offers to fill his empty bed, Varric had started to wonder if the man weren’t actually asexual. But apparently the Inquisitor had a weakness for exotic Tevinter beauties.

It would be interesting to see how this scenario was going to play out. The writer inside Varric cackled with glee.

Eventually, Dorian stood up. “Thank you for the company, gentlemen. But I have a date with the stars. Evidently there will be a lunar eclipse tonight.”

Varric chuckled softly to himself as the Inquisitor nearly tripped over himself as he leaped up from his chair.

“I can accompany you, if you wish.”

Dorian smiled. “I’d be delighted.”

All eyes, prying or otherwise, watched as the Inquisitor escorted Dorian Pavus out of the tavern.

***

From the top of the battlements, they looked up at the night sky.

Dorian’s gaze shifted to the man beside him. He wore his hair down tonight. As Dorian studied him, a breeze blew a strand of raven-black hair into his gorgeous face. The hand he lifted to push it back behind his ear was both elegant and strong.

Dorian wondered how those strong, elegant hands would feel on his body.

_That_ thought caused him to feel that familiar-yet-unfamiliar ache between his legs again.

Except this time it hurt  _more._ Dorian wasn’t sure why this happened but, for some reason, during his monthlies, he felt... well, more horny than usual.

When the Inquisitor turned to him, Dorian smiled.

“So,” Dorian said. “Tell me more about being a Templar.”

“Ex-Templar,” Max corrected. “But – what do you want to know?”

Dorian’s smile was positively coquettish. “So... do you southern Templars actually take a vow of chastity?”

Max choked on a little laugh. “Ah, no. The Order frowns upon Templars marrying, but... sex is fine.” At Dorian’s look, he amended, “Well, maybe not ‘fine’... more like they turn a blind eye.”

“You’re a ladykiller, then?”

Strange – Max wasn’t sure if he wanted to play down his experience, or to exaggerate. “I’m no blushing virgin, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Dorian smiled wickedly. “The mages in the Circle of Ostwick must have enjoyed having you. There, I mean.”

“Ah, well. Fraternization wasn’t allowed, so I’ve never... well, with a mage, I mean.”

_We could change that._

That thought came out of nowhere.

Better to deflect everything with humor. “No, you just suppress our magic with your special Templar-ness,” he teased. Then: “How does that work, anyway?”

Max smirked in response. “We reinforce reality.”

“That sounds dreadfully dull, you know.”

The Inquisitor laughed softly.

The weather wasn’t frigid, but nights in the mountains were always cold. Plus, they’d been standing on the battlements for quite some time. Dorian shivered.

A moment later, the Inquisitor had unclasped his cloak, swung it around, and let it settle on Dorian’s shoulders.

Pleased, Dorian sank into the Inquisitor’s cloak, which was still warm from his body. It also smelled like him: all steel, horse, dust, and – from his soap – a hint of lavender. “Strange,” Dorian murmured. “You don’t smell like a Templar.”

Max raised an eyebrow. “Templars smell?”

“Yes. Bit like burnt ozone. From the build-up of lyrium in your blood. But you smell different.”

“Oh,” Max said, somewhat ashamed at how easily the lie slipped out. “That’s probably because I stopped taking lyrium. Cullen, as well.”

Dorian’s expression quickly became one of concern. “Isn’t that dangerous? Lyrium is... addictive. And just quitting – it’s a wonder it hasn’t killed you! Or driven you insane!”

“I’m fine, Dorian,” Max lied again. Then admitted a slip of truth. “The dreams are the worst. Vivid.”

Dorian regarded him skeptically for a moment. Then he shifted, placing one hand upon the wall of the battlements as he tightened the cloak around his body with the other. “Well, I’ll take your word about Cullen not smelling, as I haven’t had an opportunity to get close enough to sniff him.”

“Good,” the Inquisitor said. “And I’d prefer it if you didn’t.”

He placed his hand on top of Dorian’s. Then slipped his fingers underneath so they were palm to palm.

Despite the cold, his hand was warm.

_He’s... holding my hand._

Dorian wasn’t quite able to process what this meant. Men had held his hands before, but only during sex, and only to pin Dorian down. This was nothing like that. This was positively sweet and innocent. Romantic.

It didn’t help that the Inquisitor’s expression hadn’t changed. No, the man was doing absolutely nothing to acknowledge that he was holding Dorian’s hand.

Dorian decided that he wasn’t going to acknowledge it, either.

“Was that a note of jealousy I detected, Inquisitor?” he teased.

Fingers entwined.

“Oh, no,” the Inquisitor said with a playful smile. “Cullen really isn’t my type.”

Dorian laughed softly.

“It’s late,” the Inquisitor said. “Unfortunately, I have an early meeting with Leliana in the morning. But I can accompany you back to your room, if you’d like.”

Well, it was freezing up here on the battlements. And they’d already seen the eclipse, so Dorian acquiesced.

The Inquisitor escorted him back to his room.

Still holding his hand.

And completely oblivious to – or just ignoring – the stares of the people that they passed.

Then they were nearly at Dorian’s room. They hadn’t been speaking, so, as the silence stretched on, Dorian grew increasingly nervous. Was his hand sweating? He couldn’t tell, but he hoped not.

He spoke just to say something. The first thing that popped into his head. “Poor Inquisitor - always so busy. You must miss being a Templar, having nothing to do all day but watch mages.”

They’d arrived at his door. “Being the Inquisitor isn’t so bad,” Max said with a small smile, “if it means I get to watch you.”

Lifting Dorian’s hand, he placed a light kiss upon it.

Before Dorian could react, the Inquisitor had released his hand and was already sweeping off into the shadows, leaving Dorian weak-kneed in the dim, dusty corridor.

_Maker, that... that was some very good flirting._

***

The next day, Max found Dorian in the library, arguing with Reverend Mother Giselle.

Sound carried well in the tower, so Max heard their voices as he came up the stairs. Though, to be more precise, he heard Dorian’s voice loud and clear. The mother’s voice was far more subdued.

Growing up in a devoutly Andrastian house, and then having served the Chantry since he was only ten, Max was actually somewhat scandalized by the idea that someone – in this case, his Dorian – would raise their voice to a holy woman.

“What is going on here?” he demanded as he reached the bickering pair.

Dorian fumed as Max listened to the Chantry mother explain how she was _concerned_ about the Inquisitor’s reputation. That there was _talk_ about his _association_ with the young mage from Tevinter. That perhaps the mage had _undue influence_ over the Inquisitor.

Her words were vague, but the meaning was Chantry window clear.

Dorian, on edge, waited anxiously for Max’s response.

The Inquisitor regarded Mother Giselle with cool-headed aplomb. “Dorian works for the Inquisition,” he said. “Beyond that, my ‘association’ with him isn’t anyone’s business. And I don’t care if people talk.”

 _That_ was enough to cow the holy woman. Apologizing, she quickly slunk away.

 _Well, well,_ Dorian thought. Of course there was talk – after all, people had seen them strolling through Skyhold holding hands.

“Don’t listen to her, Dorian.”

Dorian turned to him. “I don’t give a damn what she thinks of me. But I do care what people think of _us.”_

“Oh?”

“Yes,” Dorian said. “I don’t know if you’re aware, but the assumption in some corners is that you and I are... intimate.”

Max’s expression became serious. Thoughtful. Interested. “That’s not the worst assumption they could have, is it?”

Dorian’s eyes widened. That wasn’t exactly the response he’d been expecting. Nor had he expected the Inquisitor to look at him like _that_ – with unmistakeable hunger in his eyes. “I don’t know,” Dorian said. “Is it?”

Max’s lips twitched up at the corners. “Do you always answer a question with a question?”

“Would you like me to answer in some other fashion?”

Max snickered softly, then said teasingly, “If you’re capable.”

The man was clearly asking for it.

And, Maker, the ex-Templar was like a scrumptious dessert and Dorian was _starving._

It had been a long time since Dorian had kissed a man, but, like riding a horse, it was a skill that one didn’t simply forget.

He stepped forward. Threw his arms around Max’s neck as he leaned in until their lips met.

Max was suddenly breathless as Dorian kissed him. There was nothing shy about it. Instead it was all unrelenting pressure, full of passion, an intoxicating promise of pleasures to come. Max’s hands fell to Dorian’s hips, pulling him closer as Dorian kissed him again. And again.

Dorian drew back. The warmth in his smile was reflected in his eyes. “‘If you’re capable,’” he murmured. “The nonsense you speak.”

Max couldn’t stop the smile from creeping across his face. “You realize this makes the rumors somewhat true.”

Almost reluctantly, Dorian released him, then took a small step back. Max’s heart did a strange little flip at Dorian’s next words.

“Evidently. We might have to explore the full truth of them later,” Dorian said. “In private.”

 


	10. Kissing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian didn’t walk. He bolted. As if his skirts were on fire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huzzah, we are halfway through the story! It's a long road to smut, and there are often bumps in the road. I hope you all are enjoying the journey, anyway. :)
> 
> And... a small shout out to my muse, the real life Lily Petals.

Dorian didn’t want to talk about it. The blood magic that his father had cast upon him. But that is precisely what Solas and Vivienne were asking him to do.

He reminded himself that the other mages were just trying to help him. Neither one of them struck him as being gossip-mongering, so he doubted that anything he said was going to leave Vivienne’s room.

Dorian drew a deep breath and told them everything he could remember about that day.

Vivienne, sprawled majestically across a love seat, elegantly crossed her ankles. “So, my dear,” she said. “You haven’t tried using lyrium to power up a reversal spell?”

“That’s one of the first things I tried,” Dorian admitted. “Even with a shit ton of lyrium, it didn’t work.”

“I see.” Vivienne was thoughtful for a moment. “Yes, this is quite the dilemma, then. But I will write to my colleagues in Orlais. If they put their heads together, they may come up with something useful.”

Solas cocked his head. “And I will discuss this matter with the spirits of the Fade,” he said. “They may have some advice.”

Dorian stared down at his hands for a moment, folded almost primly in his lap. “I...” he stuttered. “I... don’t know how to thank you.”

“Don’t thank us now, my dear,” Vivienne drawled. “We haven’t done anything yet. But do feel free to grovel with gratitude when we finally fix you.”

***

The Inquisitor had sought Dorian out in the library. Really, he’d just wanted to see the mage. Invite him to dinner, and then maybe to play a game of chess after. One of the ambassadors had recently gifted him with a fine bottle of Antivan brandy, so perhaps they could share it while they played.

Somehow, though... they’d ended up in Dorian’s favorite niche. Near the window. Max pressed against Dorian pressed against the bookshelf. Kissing.

Dorian’s arms were around his neck. His lips soft, warm and wet. His hips crushed up dangerously against Max’s. And Max could feel the soft swell of Dorian’s breasts as they brushed against his chest.

Dorian’s perfectly ripe, and perfectly beautiful, full, round breasts.

They had made out a few times. The Inquisitor liked to believe that he was a gentleman. Still, he didn’t feel that it was unreasonable to expect a certain... _progression_ in a relationship once it turned sexual. As they kissed, the Inquisitor let his hand trail from where it rested on Dorian’s shoulder. Down to Dorian’s chest. Then his hand curled around one of Dorian’s breasts, tentatively squeezing.

Dorian tensed. Then the mage’s hands were on the Inquisitor’s chest, shoving him back.

“Dorian...?”

Dorian was flustered. His gaze darted about, everywhere but on the Inquisitor’s face. “You know, I just remembered. Something I need to be speaking to Leliana about now. We’ll talk later.”

Before Max could stop him, Dorian slipped past him, and headed for the stairs.

Dorian didn’t walk. He bolted. As if his skirts were on fire.

“Dorian!”

The mage didn’t even glance back at him.

With a sigh, the Inquisitor slumped against the wall.

Fortunately, he still had some time before his next meeting with Josephine, because there was something _he_ needed to do – in private, with only his hand for company.

***

It took Dorian a few drinks before he was able to steel his nerve enough to approach the Chargers with his burning question.

They were drinking in Bull’s usual corner of the tavern. As he approached, Bull gave him a little grin. “So... rumor has it that you and the Inquisitor are an item.”

“An item?” Dorian quipped. “You make us sound like something you’d find on a shelf in a shop.”

Bull chuckled. “Yeah. But it’s a shop that only sells sexy, pretty things.”

“Sexy, pretty things...?”

“Yeah.” Bull’s look turned salacious. “I bet you fit together nice. Like jigsaw puzzle pieces.”

Dorian raised an eyebrow. “I’m certain that I’m appalled by whatever you’re thinking... so please stop. Stop thinking.”

“Yeah. Thinking usually gets me into trouble. Sometimes it’s better to stick to drinking. Or killing things.” He cocked his head. “Care to join us, ‘Vint?”

“Actually, I was hoping to have a word with Cremisius. In, ah, private.”

Krem looked at Dorian curiously for a moment, but set down his tankard before following Dorian to a table in a quiet corner on the second floor of the tavern.

Krem folded his hands on the table and waited, watching as Dorian’s fingers nervously toyed with his collar.

After a moment, Krem spoke. “You wanted to talk...?”

Maker, he didn’t know how to put this. Not really. “Cremisius... I mean – being in the wrong body, and all – what do you do about sex?”

Oh. So that’s what this was about. Usually, when people started asking Krem about his genitals or his sexuality, he’d tell them to go leap on the pointy end of a sword. Who he let into his pants and what was in there were really nobody’s business. But those people were looking for a little titillation at Krem’s expense – Dorian wasn’t.

Of course, thoughts of the Templar from Ostwick taking advantage of the mage from Tevinter set Krem immediately on edge.

Krem’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “The Inquisitor – he’s not pressuring you, is he?”

“What?” Dorian’s eyes widened. “Oh, no, no. He’s been a perfect gentleman. Astonishingly... patient.”

Krem relaxed a little. “All right, but if he ever does pressure you... or does something you don’t like... Bull and I will have a talk with him.”

“I, uh, appreciate the offer, but... really, my honor does _not_ need defending from Maxwell.”

“Well, good,” Krem said. Then he thought for a moment. “So, yeah. The sex question. The way I look at it – the parts aren’t ideal. So you have two choices. You either avoid dealing with them, or you work with what you have.”

Dorian silently mulled that over.

“In case you’re wondering, working with what you have is a lot more fun.”

“Yes, well... I just... well, everything down there is so...” Dorian grimaced “... _moist.”_

Krem snickered. “Dorian. If the Inquisitor prefers women, then it’s likely that he’s _very_ interested in everything down there. Particularly if _he’s_ the one making it moist.”

Dorian grimaced again. “It’s difficult for me to see the appeal of that, but... okay. I get your point.”

It was obvious that Dorian wasn’t entirely convinced. “Look. You said that the Inquisitor is being patient. So maybe you should take advantage of that. Go slow. You know, take time to get used to how things feel.”

Dorian mulled that over. “I... yes, I suppose you’re right,” he finally said. “Thank you.”

“No problem,” Krem said agreeably. “And just remember, if the Inquisitor does something that you don’t like–”

“Yes, yes. I know. You and Bull will club him repeatedly over the head.”

Krem smiled. “Damn right.”

***

“Inquisitor? It’s your move.”

Max glanced up at Cullen, sitting on the other side of the chess board. “Oh,” he said, not for the first time, “sorry.”

Cullen smirked quietly to himself as the Inquisitor made a terribly thoughtless move. Cullen almost didn’t have the heart to snatch his opponent’s now-vulnerable Queen. Almost.

“Checkmate,” Cullen said. “Really, Inquisitor, if you’re going to play this badly, it’s almost no fun winning.”

“Sorry,” Max muttered. “I’m just...”

“Distracted?” Cullen finished. “Yes, I rather noticed that. Would it helped if you talked about whatever is bothering you?”

Max paused to consider that. Cassandra had already made her disapproval quite clear when it came to the subject of Max’s involvement with Dorian. And, other than Cassandra, Cullen was still the closest thing that Max had to a confidante.

Except that he was positive that Cullen couldn’t possibly approve either. In the brotherhood of the Templars, there were only two real taboos: fraternizing with mages, and anything even remotely sexual between two men.

So with Dorian, Max had managed to break both taboos.

Reluctantly, he admitted, “It’s about Dorian...”

Cullen leaned forward, elbows upon the table, folded his hands and waited.

The Inquisitor couldn’t quite meet Cullen’s eyes. Instead, his gaze hovered somewhere between Cullen’s chin and the ground.

“We’ve been... kissing,” he admitted. “It’s all been rather... chaste. To be honest, with both of us being men, I thought that things would... progress more quickly.”

Cullen made a small, noncommittal noise.

“That’s not really the problem, though,” the Inquisitor continued. “What concerns me is that I’ve never really felt like this about anyone else before.”

There was a long pause as Cullen silently reacted. Maxwell Trevelyan was the leader of the Inquisition. Cullen worked for him. Despite any personal feelings, Cullen knew that his job as the Commander of the Inquisition’s forces and as Max’s friend was to be supportive.

Cullen cleared his throat, then spoke in a level tone. “And, how, exactly, do you feel?”

Max’s eyes skittered briefly over his. “I _like_ Dorian. He’s so much fun. Full of life. Passionate about everything.” A smile ghosted over Max’s lips. Then the smile turned into a frown. “And, I... Maker’s breath, I _want_ him. I haven’t wanted anyone this much since I was eighteen and saw Lily Petals naked.”

“Lily Petals? You mean the infamous bard from Antiva?”

“Yes.” At Cullen’s expression of interest, he quickly added, “Long story.”

“You’ll tell that later, I hope.”

“And... Commander? The thing is... the fact that Dorian is a man? At first, I didn’t... well, now I don’t even care. It doesn’t bother me anymore.” The Inquisitor paused, gaze hovering near the ground now. “Is there something... wrong with me?” he asked haltingly. “I... I probably shouldn’t feel like this.”

Cullen leaned back in his chair, tapping his fingers thoughtfully against the arm rests. “Well. As for wanting him – as I’ve said, Inquisitor, Dorian’s appearance is deceiving. Any man with eyes will believe that Dorian is a beautiful woman.”

The Inquisitor listened.

“As for liking him – is it the ‘I want to have drinks and play Wicked Grace with him’ kind? Or the ‘I want to marry him’ kind?”

“Oh.” Taken aback by the question, Max flustered. Being a Templar most of his life, getting married had never really been an option. So it was something he had never even thought about before. “I, ah... well, I suppose it’s more the ‘drinks and cards’ kind.”

“In that case,” Cullen said decisively, “there’s nothing _wrong_ with you. You’re friends with a man who happens to have a woman’s body. And it also happens that you’re a hot-blooded 25-year-old man who also has eyes.”

The Inquisitor looked visibly relieved. “Thank you, Cullen.”

“Of course, Inquisitor,” Cullen replied, then he smiled. “So, this story about the infamous bard, Lily Petals...?”

“Ah. Perhaps I shouldn’t have mentioned that. The story ends with my small clothes in a tree.”

Cullen grinned. “All the best stories do.”

The men laughed.


	11. The Pavus Birthright

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It’s all very nice, this flirting business. I am, however, not a nice man.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW, kids.
> 
> Dorian decides to explore his female sexuality, so heterosexual tag...? Also, this is my first attempt to write a m/f sex scene in any detail. So please be kind to me, ha ha.

A week later, when the Inquisitor brought him to Val Royeaux, Dorian had no idea that the nature of their business was to meet with Ponchard de Lieux, the merchant to whom Dorian – desperate for coin – had sold his family’s birthright.

It was bad enough that Dorian had been obliged to sell the amulet, and had no way to regain it on his own. Which – he insisted to Max – was exactly what he intended to do. He didn’t want Max to interfere. Except that Max had gone into stubborn mode. Refused to let the matter go. And had actually threatened to ruin the slimy little man socially by playing the “Do you know who I am?” card.

Threatening to ruin a man for Dorian’s sake – not what he’d expected.

Dorian would have felt sorry for the merchant if the man hadn’t been such a toad.

Back in Skyhold, after another week had passed, the Inquisitor appeared in the library.

With the Pavus birthright.

Max listened with patient indulgence as Dorian ranted.

Maker, he was such a frustrating man. Dorian had told him that he’d wanted to do this himself. That he didn’t want to be in the Inquisitor’s debt. Didn’t he even realize what people were going to say? That Dorian was just using him to get whatever he wanted?

At the end of Dorian’s rant, Max just heaved a small sigh of uncharacteristic impatience. “Is that all?” he snapped. “Go ahead and use me, Dorian. Or are you all talk?”

Dorian froze. There was no mistaking what the Inquisitor meant, or the frustration in his voice. From recent conversations, Dorian had gleaned a fair amount of information about the Inquisitor’s past sexual history. Mostly farmers’ daughters interested in a quick tumble with a handsome knight in shining armor, a handful of wandering minstrels who recognized a nobleman when they saw one, and a brothel whore or two. Immediate gratification. Certainly nothing as drawn out as this. And it had been a long time since the Inquisitor had been with a woman.

Dorian emitted a bark of laughter. “Oh, you are glorious.”

Max raised a curious eyebrow as Dorian stepped up to him, slipping his arms around Max’s shoulders.

“I’m sorry,” Dorian said. “I... am apparently an incredible ass at accepting gifts.”

Then they were kissing. Bodies pressed together. Max’s hair all clean silk between Dorian’s fingers.

Dorian thought about that kiss later. How Max’s strong hands had encircled his waist. How wonderful he tasted, like tea and peppermint. And, how, as Max’s hips nestled against his, he’d been unable to ignore the feel of Max’s hard length, pressing insistently against the soft swell of his belly.

The Inquisitor wanted him. Desperately.

And – although the idea still frightened him – he desperately wanted the Inquisitor.

 _Dorian Pavus,_ he told himself. _You only live once._

***

As the sound of footsteps echoed off the stairs, Max glanced up from the reports on his desk, and was surprised to see Dorian.

He’d never been alone in his quarters with Dorian before. Max straightened, watching with interest as Dorian sauntered towards him, hips swaying.

“You know,” Dorian drawled as he rubbed thoughtfully at his chin, “it’s all very nice, this flirting business. I am, however, not a nice man.”

“Oh?” Max prompted, as Dorian half-circled around him.

“So, here is my proposal – we dispense with the chitchat and make our... association... more personal.”

Max’s eyes lit up. Turning, he let his hands fall gently to Dorian’s waist. “And how... ‘personal’ would you like things to be?”

Dorian slid his hands up to rest on Max’s broad shoulders. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “Not exactly.”

“You don’t know?”

“It’s, ah, not as if I’ve done it before – in this body, I mean.”

That gave Max pause. “Oh, I thought... oh.”

Dorian regarded him curiously. “You thought what, exactly?”

Max flustered. “The way you talk about sex, Dorian, I just assumed...” He cleared his throat. “Never mind what I assumed. I’m fine with taking things slow.”

Dorian blinked in surprise. This man... was he really okay with continuing to wait? Looking into Max’s eyes, all Dorian could see was warmth and sincerity.

“Yes,” Dorian murmured. “I’d, umm... appreciate that.”

Max’s hands settled more firmly around Dorian’s waist. “All right. I won’t do anything without first asking your permission.”

“Fair–” Dorian began, but the word was cut off as the Inquisitor deftly swept him off his feet, spun him around, then pushed Dorian up so he was sitting on the edge of the desk.

Then Max was between Dorian’s knees, leaning down to press long, languid kisses to Dorian’s eager mouth.

 _Maker, I could eat this man up,_ Dorian thought, as he raked his fingers through Max’s silky hair, releasing it from its usual tail. Then he moaned softly, deep in his throat, as Max’s tongue danced in his mouth, sliding against his.

Then Max’s lips slipped down, pressing a series of soft kisses along Dorian’s jaw until he reached the mage’s ear, where he breathed Dorian’s name.

Dorian quivered as Max’s hot breath surged over his skin. Dorian moaned again, letting his head fall back and pulling Max closer as the ex-Templar’s mouth kissed and licked a trail down Dorian’s neck.

Between his legs, Dorian felt that ache again, increasing in intensity as Max’s hands slid up his back, and his lips continued in their trajectory down Dorian’s neck, tongue languidly tracing the elegant arches of Dorian’s exposed collarbones.

Maker, the way Dorian tasted, like some exotic mixture of spices – cardamon, saffron, and sage. Max wanted to taste more of him. Feel skin against skin.

Max swept his own shirt over his head. Then hands on the laces of Dorian’s dress. “May I...?”

Dorian hesitated only briefly before nodding.

Dorian let his head fall back again as Max’s fingers deftly unbuckled straps, loosened laces, and opened Dorian’s dress. Teasing fingers drew gasps from Dorian’s throat. Then he quivered again as Max’s hands – so warm, so gentle – cupped Dorian’s breasts, and he bent his head to catch Dorian’s nipple between his teeth.

In the past two weeks, since his pep talk with Krem, Dorian had allowed his kissing sessions with Max to progress to some light petting. It hadn’t escaped Dorian’s notice that Max was particularly enamored of Dorian’s breasts. The man was always touching them. Squeezing them. Kneading them. Dorian didn’t really understand the appeal of a female bosom, but when Max drew Dorian’s nipple into his mouth, the ache between Dorian’s legs unexpectedly throbbed with each delicious swirl of Max’s tongue.

“Oh, gods,” Dorian groaned. “Max...”

The Inquisitor took that as an invitation to lift Dorian off the desk. Dorian automatically hooked his legs about Max’s waist, clinging as the raven-haired man maneuvered the few steps from the desk to the bed.

The next thing Dorian knew, he was lying on his back, wearing only his small clothes, with a gorgeous, half-naked man above him. Fingers trailed to the waistband of his small clothes. Blue eyes hazed with lust scorched Dorian’s skin.

“Dorian,” Max breathed. “May I take these off and touch you?”

Dorian’s heart thumped up into his throat. He had to swallow it back down in order to speak. “I... all right.”

_So much for taking things slow._

Dorian watched as Max pulled down his smalls. Lifted his hips off the bed to aid in the task. Then Max slid them down Dorian’s shapely legs before discarding them gently on the floor beside the bed.

Dorian quivered as Max’s fingers trailed up and down his thighs. Then up over his hip. Across the soft swell of his belly before slipping down over that flat triangle of dark hair where his manhood used to be.

Dorian always tended to avoid looking at his naked body. Particularly down there. He squeezed his eyes shut as Max’s hand slipped tentatively down and began to explore between Dorian’s legs.

Gentle fingers moved up and down. Maker, Dorian couldn’t believe that he was actually letting someone touch him there. Even more surprising was how utterly wonderful it felt when Max’s fingers began to move in small circles.

There was breathless wonder in the Inquisitor’s voice. “Dorian... you’re so wet.”

 _Ugh._ Dorian would have been disturbed by that, but the way Max was touching him felt so bloody good. In response, Dorian moaned softly.

The Inquisitor shifted, leaning closer. “Dorian?” he quested, his voice a seductive husk. “Can I use my mouth on you?”

His fingers had stilled.

 _Ugh._ Dorian opened his eyes. Saw the expression of need on the Inquisitor’s face. “Are you sure you want to do that?”

“Why not?”

“That... it doesn’t disgust you?”

Understanding lit in Max’s eyes. “Dorian,” he murmured. “I know this body isn’t what you’re used to, but...” he trailed off with a sigh. “Nothing about you could ever disgust me.”

Dorian’s eyes widened. “Do you... really mean that?”

The Inquisitor smiled. Then his fingers started circling again as he leaned down to press his mouth to the soft swell of Dorian’s breast.

The sensation of Max’s teasing tongue, combined with the touch of his hand, sent jolts of pleasure sparking through Dorian’s body.

Gasping, Dorian begged. “Please... use your mouth.”

Eager to comply, the Inquisitor slid down Dorian’s body. Positioned himself between Dorian’s thighs. Dorian braced himself as he felt Max’s fingers spreading him open, admiring the sight for a moment before he lowered his head.

The Inquisitor’s tongue darted out, lightly teasing as it flickered over Dorian’s pearl.

His pearl... Maker, he’d been reading too many of Varric’s romance novels.

Dorian was panting now. Tension was building steadily, carrying him towards his peak. For a while, Max’s teasing ministrations kept him on the brink. Tongue flickering, lightly swirling. It was maddening.

“Oh, Max... I think I’m going to... uh...oh Maker...”

At that, Max hooked his arms beneath Dorian’s thighs, and buried his face in the wet heat of Dorian’s pussy, lapping and sucking with abandon.

Dorian’s orgasm was sudden and explosive. Pleasure ripped through him, as a loud cry was wrenched from his throat. His back arching, he was hardly aware that his hips were bucking into the Inquisitor’s face.

The Inquisitor tightened his grip on Dorian’s hips and held on, still licking and lapping as if the world was going to end tomorrow.

Finally pleasure started to ebb.

Maker, he’d seen stars.

He vaguely wondered why the Inquisitor was still face deep between his legs, tongue working over Dorian’s now extremely sensitive parts. Except he didn’t wonder for long. As quickly as the pleasure had just ebbed, he felt it surging again, bringing him – impossibly – to a second peak.

This peak struck deeper. Burned hotter. Lasted longer. He was scarcely aware of how loud and wanton were the cries that erupted from his throat. If anyone had been listening outside the door, they probably would have believed that Dorian was being murdered.

Still, he felt slain. Almost mindless as he floated down from his peak.

He was certain that the Inquisitor would stop now.

Except he didn’t. Instead he increased his efforts and brought Dorian to a third, mind-melting peak.

Dorian didn’t scream this time.

He stopped breathing.

It felt like everything flooded out of him as he floated back down again.

He almost couldn’t feel anything between his legs anymore beyond the hot, almost painful pulse of his flesh, though he was vaguely aware of when the Inquisitor drew back.

And then loudly swore.

Dorian’s eyes snapped open.

Fuck, he’d just set the bed on fire.

 _Literally._ Literally on _fire._

Max and Dorian were suddenly in panic mode, hurrying to tamp down the magical flames crackling among the sheets. Max used pillows. Dorian – more magic. Once the fire was out, they looked at each other, crouched on the bed, bodies tense. Max stared at Dorian with a look of alarm. The lower half of his face still wet and glistening.

“That,” Dorian said haltingly, “hasn’t happened in a _very_ long time. I assure you that I rarely lose control during sex like that.”

Max blinked. He then uttered a nervous laugh.

Dorian also emitted a small, nervous laugh.

Nervous laughter turned into real laughter.

As their laughter died, the Inquisitor slumped back. Used a non-scorched part of the sheet to wipe his face. “Then I should be flattered?”

Dorian felt his face grow hot. “Don’t... don’t let it go to your head, Inquisitor.”

The Inquisitor laughed softly. “Help me change the sheets, Dorian.”

Together they rose from the bed. Stripped off the ruined sheets. In their place, the Inquisitor tossed down a clean blanket. As Dorian smoothed the blanket out, Max’s arms encircled him from behind. Straightening, Dorian turned. Max smiled, then kissed him.

On the Inquisitor’s lips, Dorian could taste himself. _Ugh._

He pulled back, smiling softly. “I’ve probably ruined the mood, haven’t I?”

Max smiled again, then pulled Dorian closer.

Against his belly he could feel Max’s hard length.

“Does that answer your question?”

“If you’d like,” Dorian murmured sultrily, “I could return the favor.”

“I certainly wouldn’t stop you, Dorian.”

Smiling, Dorian pushed the Inquisitor down to the bed, then climbed over him, and reached for the laces on his pants.

***

The Inquisitor lay back, beneath the blanket, with Dorian in his arms, completely sated.

Maker, no one had performed that act on him with such... expertise. Clearly, being a man who slept with other men gave Dorian quite the edge in the arts of male pleasure.

At some point, Max had loosened Dorian’s ubiquitous braid, so now he trailed his fingers through Dorian’s heavy, dark hair.

After a while, Dorian stirred. Sitting up, he gazed down at Max, his expression... thoughtful. Strange. Grim.

“Something wrong, Dorian?”

Dorian’s lips tightened. Then he exhaled slowly. “I guess I was just wondering,” he admitted. “Where this is going – you and I. If it’s just fun that you want. Not that there’s anything wrong with having a bit of fun, of course. I mean, all things considered.”

Max sat up. Considered Dorian for a long moment. Listened carefully to what his heart was telling him. Since his heart-to-heart talk with Cullen, Max had been thinking about his feelings for the mage from Tevinter. He didn’t want just sex from Dorian. But he didn’t want just friendship, either. Maker, it was confusing, but he didn’t want to lie to Dorian about how he felt. He didn’t want to pretend. Or hide.

He covered Dorian’s hand with his own. “I... I want more than just fun, Dorian.”

Dorian stared at him in silent shock.

Max smiled teasingly. “Speechless, I see.”

“That... that wasn’t what I was expecting.”

“What did you expect? That I’d just use you?”

Actually, that is exactly what Dorian had expected. There wasn’t anything inherently wrong with the Inquisitor liking women, or even the fact that he was interested in what Dorian currently possessed between his legs. No, the issue was that they both knew that Dorian was _not_ a woman.

“Then, what you’re saying,” Dorian asked for clarification, “is that you want... some sort of relationship? Some... romantic entanglement?”

“If... if you’ll have me.”

 _He can’t mean this,_ Dorian thought. And yet, he’d never seen the Inquisitor so pale before, so vulnerable, so grim. And then it struck Dorian: the Inquisitor fully expected Dorian to reject _him._

Still, they’d been avoiding the dragon-sized elephant in the room.

“Max... if I find a way to get my old body back... my _male_ body... what then?”

The Inquisitor averted his eyes. Considered that. Finally returned his gaze to Dorian’s. “We’ll just have to deal with it when that day comes.”

 _Walk away now, Dorian Pavus,_ the mage told himself. _He won’t want you after you change. Leaving now would be better. Later – it would hurt more._

Except, confronted by the Inquisitor’s sincere vulnerability, he just couldn’t bring himself to walk away.

He turned his hand over, then entwined their fingers together. “All right,” Dorian said softly. “But I’ve never really had a relationship before.”

“Neither have I,” the Inquisitor said, his relief evident on his face. Then he smiled gently. “I’m sure we’ll muddle through somehow.”

***

The Inquisitor came awake, screaming and thrashing, in the middle of the night.

Dorian jolted up beside him, hands raised and crackling with magical energy, ready to defend or attack. But, by the light of the moons streaming in through Max’s windows, there were no enemies to be seen. Only Max.

Who was sitting up in bed, pale as wax, strands of hair stuck to his sweat-covered face, and shaking like a virgin on her wedding night.

Alarm rocketed through Dorian. He scuttled closer, reaching for the Inquisitor. “Max, are you okay? What’s wrong? Maker, your hands are like ice!”

“Water,” he rasped. “Please...”

Dorian stared at him, baffled. He scanned the room, spotted the pitcher and glass on the desk, then scampered over. A moment later, he was passing the glass to the Inquisitor.

Max drained the glass in several desperate gulps.

“Another...?” Dorian ventured.

Max glanced at him. Gray eyes wide with concern. But Max knew that this thirst could not be slaked no matter how much he drank.

He shook his head. Let Dorian pry the glass from his fingers and set it on the bedside table before turning back to peer into his face with concern again. “Max...? Tell me what’s wrong or I really will get a healer this time.”

Max drew a breath. Pushed his wet hair back from his face. Tried to speak calmly. “Remember how I told you about the dreams I’ve been having since I stopped using lyrium? Vivid dreams?”

Dorian fretted. “But Cullen told me you both quit months ago in Haven! I’m no expert in lyrium addiction, but... still? That doesn’t make sense.”

Max was silent.

Dorian bit his lip. The freezing cold hands... the unquenchable thirst... the intense dreams... the events at Redcliff...

Max watched Dorian biting his lip. Thinking. In fact, it was obvious when Dorian had that flash of an epiphany.

“You!” Dorian’s voice was an indignant snarl. “You lied to me!”

“Dorian...”

Dorian ignored his attempts at protest. “You haven’t quit using lyrium,” he accused. “Not completely, at any rate. You used it that day we met my father. How else could you have nullified his magic?”

Something in the Inquisitor’s expression unraveled. His eyes infused with pain. With shame. Dorian felt a strange ache in his chest as his lover hung his head, hand covering his mouth, eyes squeezed painfully shut.

Dorian froze, uncertain.

Then he reached out, tentative fingers on Max’s shoulder, and spoke softly. _“Amatus..._ does anyone know you’re still using it?”

The Inquisitor opened his eyes. Eventually he lowered his hand. But he still didn’t meet Dorian’s gaze. “Just Cassandra,” he admitted reluctantly. “And you.”

Dorian thought. It was true that Max didn’t have that southern Templar smell, which meant he wasn’t taking it regularly. “How often?”

“Just when I think I might need an edge,” Max said. Finally his eyes rose to Dorian’s. “I can’t let Corypheus win. And I’m willing to pay any price to stop him.”

Dorian fretted. The Inquisitor was struggling with lyrium addiction. Maker, he’d hidden it so well, that Dorian had been completely clueless until this moment. They were all clueless. “Max... this isn’t something you should go through alone.”

“That’s why I have Cassandra. She keeps an eye on me. And Cullen. If either one of us ever loses control... Cassandra will step in and do what needs to be done.”

A small shiver crept up Dorian’s spine. “That sounds dreadfully ominous, _amatus.”_

“It’s necessary.”

Dorian continued to fret. He knew he couldn’t tell the Inquisitor what to do. And no matter what Max did – keep ingesting lyrium occasionally, or quit entirely – Dorian would still worry.

Dorian lifted a hand to Max’s face. “If there’s anything I can do... Max, I’m here for you.”

Relief washed across the Inquisitor’s face. Then he smiled as he captured Dorian’s hand, planting a soft kiss to his palm. “Dorian, you are unbelievably amazing.”

Dorian smiled slyly. “Yes. And do try to remember that the next time I set your bed on fire.”

 


	12. Fiery Brand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Kid,” Varric said. “I think you and I need to have a talk about what they call ‘too much information.’”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cassandra's reaction to what Cole reveals may be my favorite thing in this entire story. CASSANDRA GREATLY APPROVES +20
> 
> And Cole perfectly nails Max's conflict.

Crestwood was miserable.

First, when it didn’t rain, it continuously drizzled. Everything was wet. The ground was marshy, and their boots constantly became entrenched in the muck, making travel slow. The wet had seeped into their clothes, their hair, and shoes, and made the cold feel colder.

Second, the bad weather meant that Varric and Cassandra, also miserable, made the Inquisitor the target of their frustrations. And their collective misery made Cole more glum than usual.

Third, the Inquisitor hadn’t appreciated it when the Grey Warden they’d come to meet had nearly shoved his sword up Max’s ass when he’d entered the cave ahead of Hawke.

Fourth, there was something immensely shifty about the mayor of Crestwood, but Max couldn’t quite put his finger on what it was.

And – last, but not least – Dorian had opted to travel to Val Royeaux to conduct some magical research with Solas and Vivienne instead of coming to Crestwood with the Inquisition. Which meant that Max missed him. And also that he didn’t have a single mage to light the damp wood of the campfire.

Varric grumbled as he continued to strike the flint.

“I feel like I’ll never be dry again,” Cassandra huffed.

“Come on, now, Cass,” Max teased. “Hardship builds character.”

“In that case,” Cassandra smoothly replied, “Varric must have suffered a lot of hardship, as he’s quite the character.”

“Ho, ho!” Varric cried. “The grumpy Seeker makes a joke!”

Max became aware of the Spirit boy hovering behind him. “Yes, Cole? You have something you wish to share?”

Cole murmured. “He loves the clever tricks you do with your mouth – the way your tongue caresses his pearl – but he thinks his taste disgusts you.” Cole cocked his head. “But you think he tastes like heaven. You should tell him.”

Max froze.

Wait – his _pearl?_

“Kid,” Varric said. “I think you and I need to have a talk about what they call ‘too much information.’”

“Oh. So _that_ is what you’ve been doing with Dorian?” Cassandra said flatly, but her gaze was far from disapproving.

Max cleared his throat. “Cole,” he said patiently. “Sex things – those are private. You probably shouldn’t pry into those sorts of thoughts.”

Cole dipped his head. “But the body is all wrong – it _hurts_ him.”

The Inquisitor reminded himself that patience was a virtue, especially when it came to Cole’s imperfect understanding of the world of the living. “I know, Cole. That’s why he’s gone with Solas and Vivienne to Val Royeaux. To find a way to change back.”

Cole’s pale eyes floated over Max’s face. “You don’t want him to change back. Wishing, wanting – you think wishing makes you a bad man. But you want him to be happy.”

“Cole,” the Inquisitor said, voice strained. “Stop.”

Sparks flew from Varric’s flint, finally igniting the nest of tinder in the campfire. “And.... success!” Varric announced.

Cassandra breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank the Maker for that.”

***

The Inquisitor called a meeting in the War Room the day after Dorian, Vivienne and Solas returned from Val Royeaux.

Trevelyan explained what Grey Warden Alistair had revealed, then asked for volunteers to join the expedition to meet Alistair and Hawke in the Western Approach.

“Ugh,” Sera muttered. “Sand.”

“And don’t forget Venatori,” Dorian added.

“Venatori?” Bull repeated. “Count me in. Been a while since I killed any ‘Vints.”

Dorian eyed him. “It’s disturbing how much you seem to enjoy murdering my countrymen.”

Bull snorted. “As if _you_ don’t.”

“Ah. Fair.”

The Inquisitor turned to his trusty dwarf. “You should come, too, Varric. Since Hawke is your friend, after all.”

“You said the exact same words before Crestwood,” Varric reminded him. “And _that_ was a great big barrel of laughs.”

The Inquisitor smirked. “At least it won’t be wet.”

“Yes, but – as Buttercup already pointed out – sand. Can’t say that I’m a big fan of sand in all my nooks and crannies.”

“Now _there’s_ an image,” Dorian muttered.

The Inquisitor’s cutting blue eyes scanned the room. “Any other business we need to discuss?”

Dismissed, the inner circle filed out, as the advisers and the Inquisitor began to discuss requisitions for Ser Morris.

Dorian could feel the Inquisitor’s gaze on him. It moved over his body, covetous, possessive. Strange how Dorian felt a little thrill at the proprietary nature of the Inquisitor’s gaze on him, despite the fact that his body wasn’t male.

Outside, in the corridor, Sera was waiting for him. “You still have your lady parts, so I guess you, baldy and Vivvy didn’t have any luck, eh?”

Dorian frowned. The lead they’d been following had turned out to be a dead end. And neither Solas’ spirit “friends,” nor Vivienne’s colleagues had been able to provide any viable solutions. So, for now, Dorian was still stuck with a female body.

“I’m afraid not.”

A flicker of sympathy. Then Sera brightened. “Someone recently sent the Inquisitor a box of chocolates from that chocolatey place in Val Royeaux. La Piss-your-ear.”

Dorian chuckled. “La Patisserie, you mean.”

“Whatever. Inky didn’t want them.” Her eyes glittered. “But I know where Josie is hiding ‘em, if you wanna go liberate some.”

Dorian’s eyes lit up. La Patisserie’s confections were to die for. “Your proposal is bloody brilliant.”

Sera grinned. “It is, innit? Come on, then.”

***

Later, in his bed, the Inquisitor placed a trail of kisses along the inside length of Dorian’s thigh.

They had done this three times before the Inquisitor had run off to Crestwood, so this was only the fourth time that Dorian had been in the Inquisitor’s bed. Still, the act tended to play out the same. They would undress, then please each other with hands and mouths. Dorian was becoming accustomed to letting the Inquisitor see and touch his female body, and he truly enjoyed the pleasure the Inquisitor gave him. In fact, every time Max tongued him into having a string of consecutive, teeth-rattling, mind-blowing orgasms, Dorian breathlessly thought that having a woman’s body wasn’t as terrible as he’d originally supposed.

Afterward, the Inquisitor liked to cuddle.

Dorian made a breathless sound as the Inquisitor peeled down Dorian’s small clothes. Then moaned as the Inquisitor’s hand slid between his legs, seeking his wetness, then teasingly stroked him with slick fingertips.

“Oh, gods... Max...”

The Inquisitor continued to touch Dorian. Kneeling between his legs, Max watched as Dorian’s expression changed, lips parted, eyes heavy lidded. Maker, Dorian’s face, smeared with pleasure, was one of the most beautiful things that Max had ever seen.

Dorian reached for him, welcoming him into open arms. Offered his mouth. Max shifted, leaning down to taste of Dorian’s sweet lips.

Max’s hips were now flush with Dorian’s. Oh, Maker, he could feel Dorian’s wet heat as his cock, hard and needy, pressed between Dorian’s legs. He hadn’t meant to, but he’d inadvertently managed to align himself just so – one small movement of his hips and he’d be inside.

His teeth nipped at Dorian’s ear. Then he was all desperate breath, as he resisted the animal instinct to thrust in. “Dorian. Can I make love to you?”

Gray eyes, soft, questioning. “I thought that’s what we were doing...?”

“I mean...” Max began, but then trailed off with a shudder.

 _Oh._ He could feel it. Max’s cock between his legs. And he could feel how the man was unsteady, quivering as he resisted. “You mean you want to have sex,” Dorian realized, already squirming away. “Actual intercourse.”

Max was frustratingly disappointed as Dorian shifted away from him. “Would that be so terrible?”

Dorian’s eyes were wide. “I... to be perfectly honest, when the demon changed me... I’m not sure if this body is... virginal or... not.”

Max shifted forward, determined. Hands on Dorian’s thighs, gently spreading them open. Voice gently coaxing. “I’ll be careful,” he promised. “I don’t want to hurt you, Dorian. We can stop any time you want.”

Dorian shifted away again. Quicker this time. Thighs pressed tightly together. Access denied.

That was a definite _no._ Max leaned back, settling on his heels, and rested his hands on his own thighs. Maker, how badly he wanted Dorian. But he hadn’t missed the flash of panic that had crossed over the mage’s face. Making every effort to ignore the demanding throb between his thighs, and to keep the disappointment out of his voice, he spoke quietly. “Dorian? What’s really the matter?”

Dorian looked at the Inquisitor. Maker, he was gorgeous. And so damn sexy. If Dorian had still possessed his male body, he knew they wouldn’t be having this conversation. By now, he would have let this man take him. Been on hands and knees, begging for it.

“If you... if we... I...” Dorian stammered. Then he sighed, and decided to put it plainly. “Well, just the idea of conceiving a child scares the shit out of me.”

Dorian saw how the Inquisitor’s expression changed. In it, a thread of alarm. Clearly, he didn’t relish the idea of impregnating Dorian any more than Dorian did.

“Oh,” Max said. Then the alarm vanished, and he smiled slightly. “Well, there are ways to prevent that, you know. Condoms... or potions... oh, and in the Circle, some of the female mages had talismans they wore under their robes.”

Dorian drew his legs towards his chest, wrapping his arms around his knees as he eyed the Inquisitor. “Oh? For someone who’s never done it with a Circle mage, you seem to know quite a bit about what’s under their robes.”

The Inquisitor snorted a soft laugh. “You were a pubescent boy once,” he said. “Among the initiates, sex was a popular topic.”

Dorian murmured in agreement. “True...”

Max reached out, placing his hands on Dorian’s arms. “Dorian, it’s fine,” he said softly. “We don’t have to consummate our relationship. I feel lucky just to be with you.”

Dorian didn’t entirely believe that. But the sweetness of the sentiment made him soft inside, his heart all wobbly.

“In that case,” Dorian murmured, as he stretched back across the bed. “Perhaps – if you lie down, with your head here – then we could give each other pleasure at the same time?”

Interest sparked in the Inquisitor’s eye. “I think,” he said, “that’s the best suggestion I’ve heard all day.”

***

The Inquisitor wanted him. All of him. Wanted to possess him. And – _Maker!_ – a part of him wanted to be possessed.

He was quite curious about how it would feel. In truth, he’d never had sex with a woman, nor ever wanted to, so he hadn’t paid much attention to that sort of sex talk at any of the Circles he’d attended as a young man. So he was somewhat ignorant in that regard.

Like him, Sera was interested only in her own sex. And, any time Dorian brought up the subject of sex with men, Sera would literally stick her fingers in her ears, sing a tune, and run away.

Other than Sera, he didn’t have any close female friends in the Inquisition, so he had no other women to ask.

As for Krem... Krem was very private about his sexuality, so once Dorian realized he was making the Charger uncomfortable, he quickly stopped asking those kinds of questions.

What he did know, he’d mostly gleaned from reading Cassandra’s romance novels. Which were annoying vague, beyond the fact that a man inserting his “fiery brand” into the “petal-soft folds” of a woman’s “pulsating core” would shake the earth and make celestial beings sing. And that – according to Bull – most women didn’t enjoy receiving men “in the back door.”

In the end, though, he did go to Vivienne with a request.

The enchantress lounged majestically on her love seat. In her hand, a small bottle of crimson liquid. “The potion you asked for, my dear.”

“Thank you,” Dorian said, unable to meet her eyes as he hastily plucked the bottle out of her hand and tucked it away in his bodice.

“I’m not judging you,” Vivienne drawled. “Though – to be clear – this is for _his_ benefit, not yours.”

“That’s... acceptable,” Dorian said. “I think I’ll go now, before I unwittingly say something nice.”

At that Vivienne smiled. “Something nice? No, we absolutely cannot have that. Now – run along, my dear. And do enjoy yourselves.”


	13. The Western Approach

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “And, in return, we could fix you – make you a man again. Join us, Pavus. Join the Venatori.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dorian has had enough of your benevolent sexism, Inquisitor.

The Inquisitor met up with Cullen’s advance troops two weeks later in the Western Approach.

Maxwell Trevelyan didn’t know most of the new recruits – several of them local men who had recently signed up. Then again, Max didn’t know most of the men who comprised the Inquisition’s forces. As the Inquisition’s leader and figurehead, Max spent most of his time either consulting with his advisers in the War Room, or at his desk, mired in paperwork. Getting to personally know the men under him just wasn’t an option.

As Max listened to the reports of the scouts and high-ranking officers around the maps on the table at one end of camp, he was plagued by little threads of doubt. Most of the officers were veteran fighters, with at least a decade’s worth – or more – experience than Max possessed. Not that Max had never been in a leadership position before – he’d made the rank of Knight-Lieutenant before he’d left the Templars, served by fifty men. Still, Cullen outranked him twice over. Even Rylen – Cullen’s second-in-command, and another ex-Templar – outranked him. And – whenever he met with the soldiers like this – Max was keenly aware of his age. His youth seemed to inspire envy and dubiousness in equal measure.

Max studied the map as the scouts explained the safest and quickest route to the Tevinter ritual tower where they would meet Hawke and Alistair.

At this point, the officers had separated into their own small groups. Relaxed, and laughing amongst themselves. Max wasn’t paying them much attention, at least until Sera and Dorian, coming towards Max, passed by one of the groups.

One of the younger men jostled a companion with his elbow, then called out to Dorian. “Hey, sweetheart. Word of the night is ‘legs’. Why don’t we go back to your tent and spread the word?”

The other men laughed.

Dorian grimaced. Sera’s head whipped around, eyes blazing with fury. “Go piss up a tree!”

Inside Max, something white-hot ignited. To the scouts’ surprise, the Inquisitor broke suddenly away from the table, then strode over to the man who had just propositioned his lover.

The Inquisitor’s fist sent him sprawling to the ground.

Stunned, the soldier stared up at the Inquisitor.

“Don’t you dare talk about her that way,” the Inquisitor seethed, “or I’ll have your fucking head.”

The soldier blinked a few times. “I... yes, Inquisitor.”

Max turned. Took a few steps towards Dorian. Placing a hand on the small of Dorian’s back, he led the mage away, towards the edge of camp.

Sera, naturally, scampered along behind them.

The Iron Bull, sensing that something was afoot as they passed, also trailed along behind Sera.

Once out of earshot of the troops, Dorian whirled, eyes flashing. “ _Her?”_ he hissed. “Don’t tell me that you actually referred to me _as a woman.”_

Sera rolled her eyes. “Oh, Maker’s hairy nutsack. Here we go again.”

The Inquisitor started. Had he...? Usually he was quite good at keeping his pronouns straight. Tone pragmatic, he admitted, “It just slipped out, Dorian.”

Dorian didn’t relent. “I am a man,” he growled. “Is that so fucking difficult to comprehend? Or did that last batch of Venatori we fought bash you a bit too hard on the head?”

Speechless, Max gaped.

“Look, Vint,” Bull said calmly. “We all slip up sometimes. Don’t blame us, though. Blame those big, tantalizing tits of yours.”

Maker, now everyone was staring at his chest. _Marvelous!_ In response, Dorian crossed his arms. “And, what, _exactly_ , did you think you were doing? You punched that man in the face!”

“He’s lucky I didn’t stab him,” the Inquisitor snarled. “And I was defending your honor!”

“Stab him? _Vishante kaffas!”_ Dorian snorted in exasperation. “I don’t need you to defend my honor!” His gaze swung angrily to Bull. “I don’t need you or Krem to defend my honor, either! I’m not some... fragile, helpless flower in need of protection! I am quite capable of taking care of myself, thank you. If I wished it, I could kill a man with a _word.”_ His eyes narrowed. “I could burn Skyhold _down to the ground.”_

Bull raised his hands. “Woah, now, Vint. _I_ didn’t do anything. Don’t take your frustrations out on me.”

As Dorian’s gaze swung back to him, the Inquisitor realized that the Qunari had definitely just thrown him under the wagon. “Bull!”

“Sorry, Boss. But you’re on your own this time. Come on, Sera.”

The elf and the Qunari made their escape.

As they moved out of earshot, Dorian’s eyes narrowed. This behavior – angry, violent, snarling – wasn’t like the Inquisitor at all. Voice low, Dorian hissed. “You – you’re on lyrium right now, aren’t you?”

Guilt flashed over the Inquisitor’s face in the moment before he averted his eyes from Dorian’s face.

Dorian enjoyed being right most of the time. Just not now. “Shit.”

Max took a moment to compose himself. Then lifted his gaze, feeling even more guilty upon seeing the disappointment in Dorian’s eyes. “It seemed like a good idea at the time,” he mumbled.

“That doesn’t excuse your behavior!”

Max sighed. “Really, Dorian, even if I weren’t on lyrium... what kind of man do you think I am? That I would just stand aside and let someone insult one of my friends?”

“No, but...” Dorian sighed. “That doesn’t mean that you should just attack your own men without adequate provocation!”

“‘Adequate provocation...?’ Maker's balls, Dorian. Would you like it if some woman said she wanted to ride me hard and put me away wet?”

Dorian paused. “Has one?”

“Not... today.”

“I...” Dorian faltered. He’d seen women flirting with the Inquisitor. Not that he could blame them, of course, but he’d had no idea that their proposals were quite so... blunt _._ “No. I don’t suppose I would.”

The Inquisitor raised a questioning eyebrow at him.

“That doesn’t mean that I’d set her on _fire,”_ Dorian added. “I’m not a _savage.”_

The Inquisitor sighed. “Point taken.” Stepping forward, he lightly placed his hands on Dorian’s arms. “Forgive me, Dorian.”

At this, Dorian felt his heart going soft again. It made it hard to hold onto his anger. “Yes... well... I know you meant well, but we can’t just have the Inquisitor acting like a bully. ‘Modest in temper,’ remember?”

“I’ll try to remember,” the Inquisitor said with a grimace. But then he smiled. “Oh, and Dorian? Please promise me you won’t actually burn Skyhold down to the ground.”

Dorian laughed softly. “If you insist.”

***

The next day, they met Hawke and Alistair outside the tower.

Hawke tossed a lock of dark hair our of her eyes. “Inquisitor. I’m glad you’re here. They’ve already started the ritual. I can only hope we’re not too late.”

“Then let’s not waste time talking.”

Hawke and Alistair exchanged a glance. “You go ahead,” Hawke said. “We’ll take point.”

The Inquisitor and his companions hastened forward, not knowing what to expect. Given that they were dealing with the Venatori, Dorian expected the worst. Still, it was somewhat shocking when they stumbled into the courtyard of the broken tower upon Dorian’s worst fear: blood sacrifice and demon binding. And even more of a shock to recognize the man responsible for these atrocities.

Before he could stop himself, Dorian blurted out, “Livius!”

The dark-haired man turned, pale blue eyes settling on Dorian without recognition.

Max’s head whipped around. “Dorian? You know this man?”

The Livius that Dorian had known in Tevinter had been an impeccably-dressed and perfectly-groomed first son of a prestigious noble family. This man was road-dusty, his hair sloppily tied back, and he was several days past needing a good shave. “Yes. Magister Livius Erimond of Vyrantium.”

Recognition slowly lit up Erimond’s eyes. “Dorian Pavus, is that you?” he asked with some amusement. “I’d heard rumors that your father’s blood magic ritual had changed you. Only no one quite knew how.”

“And I heard that you’d inherited your father’s seat in the Magisterium. I didn’t know that you’d allied yourself with Venatori scum.”

Blue eyes narrowed. “The Venatori are doing great things. With our demon army, we will storm the gates of the Black City itself, and slay the Old Gods before they become corrupted by the darkspawn. Think of it, Pavus – if we succeed, there will never be another Blight.”

 _The Black City?_ That gave Dorian pause. Erimond – he was insane.

Beside him, Max’s voice rang out – strong, clear. “I was wondering when we’d get to the demon army. A plot for world domination wouldn’t be complete without one.”

Erimond’s gaze fell on Trevelyan. “So, this must be the infamous Inquisitor,” he said. His cunning eyes slid back to his fellow Tevinter. “You’re no fool, Pavus. Your Inquisition _will_ fail. Your Inquisitor is a boy whose only distinction is that he gets his power from using stolen magic.”

Dorian felt the anger rising, heating his blood. “You will _not_ speak of the Inquisitor that way!”

“We could use a mage of your skill,” Erimond continued, as if he hadn’t heard Dorian’s outburst. “And, in return, we could fix you – make you a man again. Join us, Pavus. Join the Venatori.”

Max knew how absurd the suggestion was. That Dorian would never resort to blood magic, nor aid the Venatori in any way. Still, it wasn’t his place to speak for the mage.

Max turned to him. “Dorian?”

Dorian regarded him blankly for a moment. “What!? Wait – are you suggesting that I’d even consider his offer?”

Max cocked an eyebrow. “No, but I _am_ waiting for you to tell him just where he can stick that offer.”

“Shame,” Erimond remarked. “I was hoping you’d join us. Now you’ll have to die with the others.”

Max lifted his chin. In his blue and silver plate mail armor, he was bold. Glorious. “I’m not that easy to kill,” he said. “But do feel free to give it your best shot.”

Erimond’s lips curled up into an oily smile. “Then it’s a good thing that the Elder One taught me some tricks on how to deal with that magic you stole from him.”

His hand flew up in the air. Twisting, it sketched out an esoteric pattern. Across the broken courtyard, his magic shot forth.

It happened so fast. Before Max could ignite the lyrium inside him, a wire of electricity crackled as it latched onto the Anchor in his hand.

Pain rattled Max’s bones, dropping him to his knees. He barely bit back a scream as he clutched at his wrist, struggling but powerless to free himself of Erimond’s spell.

Shock rooted everyone to the spot.

Everyone, that is, except for Dorian.

He saw the agony on Max’s face. He didn’t recognize Erimond’s spell, but he understood its nature – could feel the intensity of its power in the air – and knew.

Oh gods. Erimond was _killing_ him.

Dorian reacted. Wide open to the Fade, he let the energy pour in, rushing through him until it hurt to contain it. Whipping his staff around, he aimed at Erimond and unleashed all of his power with a cry. “You will not hurt him!”

The ensuing blast knocked Erimond to the ground.

Dorian rushed to the Inquisitor’s side. “Max! Are you okay?”

Max staggered to his feet. “I’m... fine.”

Erimond, shaky, also staggered to his feet. In his eyes, fear. “Enough!” he screeched. “Demons! Wardens! Kill them all!”

The wardens and demons turned, baring tooth and claw and sword. Drawing weapons, the Inquisition surged forward to meet them in battle.

***

The mood at camp that night was somber, despite the fact that they’d managed to stop the ritual and defeat the demons and rogue Wardens. In the fray, Livius Erimond had managed to escape.

Hawke and Alistair set out immediately, tracking Erimond, who they believed was heading towards Adamant Fortress. No one believed that the magister would give up so easily on his precious ritual.

At camp, some of the the soldiers were looking at Dorian differently. He didn’t know why until Bull explained it later.

“When your friend, the fellow ‘Vint–”

“Don’t lump me in the same category as that scum,” Dorian griped.

Undaunted, and ignoring him, Bull continued, “–when he tried to kill the Inquisitor, no one _did_ anything. Didn’t know what to do. Magic – that shit creeps most people out. But you – you jumped to the Inquisitor’s defense.”

“Well, of course I did!” Dorian said, almost offended. “What kind of man do you think I am? That I would just stand aside while someone hurts one of my friends? Oh...” Dorian trailed off as he realized that he’d just repeated Max’s words of the previous day almost verbatim.

If Dorian hadn’t intervened, Erimond would have killed him. Dorian’s beloved Inquisitor. He didn’t like the way his chest became tight any time he thought of Maxwell Trevelyan dying. That, more than anything, prompted Dorian to make a decision.

For the sake of propriety, Dorian and Max didn’t share a tent while they were in the field. So Dorian waited until the Inquisitor finally retired for the night, and the camp quiet, before he sneaked into Max’s tent.

There was a hint of surprise on Max’s face, but his eyes lit up with pleasure. “Yes, Dorian? Did you need something?”

Dorian smoothed the tent flap shut behind him. “Oh, I just wanted to make sure you’re all right, after what happened at the tower.”

A flicker of disappointment. “Ah,” Max said, then smiled reassuringly. “No permanent damage was done, as far as I can tell.”

“Good,” Dorian said. Then he flashed a coquettish smile. “I’m lying, by the way. What I came for is far more... _primal_ than a casual chat.”

Max made a small noise of pleasure as Dorian climbed into his lap, and covered his mouth with heated kisses.

Kissing progressed quickly to touching. Next, clothes were stripped off and cast aside. Max slipped his hand down between Dorian’s thighs, rewarded by Dorian’s soft gasp and quickening breath. Maker, Dorian was already so very wet. And, Maker, so incredibly sexy like this, squirming naked in Max’s lap. Wanting. Needy.

Dorian leaned down, his breath misty as he murmured in the Inquisitor’s ear. “Max? You remember those potions we talked about? The ones that prevent accidents?”

It took Max a brief moment to realize what Dorian meant. Leaning back, he met Dorian’s gaze. “Then, that means you want to...?” He paused, as it occurred to him that this situation – in Max’s small, cold tent, on the cold, hard ground but for a thin blanket – wasn’t ideal for romance. “Here?”

Dorian smiled softly. “I think I’ve made you wait long enough.”

The Inquisitor didn’t hesitate. He gracefully rolled Dorian beneath him.

Placed one more kiss on Dorian’s mouth before reaching down to guide himself into Dorian’s waiting wet heat.

***

He’d just let the Inquisitor fuck him.

As Sera would say, _right in the lady bits_.

Dorian lay on his back next to the Inquisitor, under the thin, scratchy blanket, staring up at the tent ceiling, and thinking about the sex he’d just had with the Inquisitor.

_That was it?_

First, Max hadn’t gone in easily, so Dorian had started wondering if his body weren’t actually virginal. Maker, yes, Max was notably well-endowed, but it wasn’t as though he possessed an impossible monster between his legs. And Max – patient and kind, as always – had gently rocked against Dorian, in an attempt to inch his way in. Dorian had practically been mortified by the wet, fleshy noises his body was making as the tip of Max’s cock moved in and out. And by that wetness he could feel trickling out. But after adjusting Dorian’s hips and spreading his legs wider, Max was finally and suddenly able to slide all the way in. 

Dorian's breath hitched and his fingers dug into Max's shoulders as Max began to slowly thrust inside him. He considered how it felt. The sensation of fullness was the same. But it felt... weird. Different.

Max stirred beside him, leaning on one elbow as he rolled to his side. “Well, Dorian?”

One thing was clear – that Max had enjoyed it very much. Dorian could almost taste the happiness in Max’s eyes. So he didn’t want to be cruel, but he didn’t want to mislead the man, either. “I admit that I expected it to be... different.”

A flicker of concern. “Was it that bad?”

“No,” Dorian said quickly. “Not bad, just... I expected it would be... _more.”_

“Well, it was your first time with this body... the first time isn’t always the best. It should get better, though, if you want to keep trying. But... more?”

Dorian didn’t miss the hopeful note in Max’s voice. “Well, to be honest, I was expecting the earth to shake, and celestial beings to sing.”

Max’s eyes widened. Then he laughed. “Maker, Dorian, you’ve been reading romance novels!” He laughed again. “Well, at least that explains Cole’s comment about your _pearl._ ”

Dorian flustered. “I... just a couple... and – he what?”

“Those books aren’t entirely.... accurate, you know.”

“No?”

“In my experience, most women don’t, ah, reach completion during, ah, the main act.”

“You can just say they don’t come while fucking, Max. I’m not easily offended.”

Max cocked an eyebrow. With a bitter smile, he trailed his fingers softly across Dorian’s collarbones. “I’m sorry the fucking didn’t live up to your expectations.”

“Oh, don’t listen to me,” Dorian said. “Apparently my expectations were entirely unreasonable.”

Max’s hand trailed lower, down sternum, skirting around Dorian’s breasts. “Shall I go down on you?”

Dorian eyed him sharply. “You really like doing that?”

“Maker, Dorian, is it so strange that I enjoy giving my partner pleasure?”

“No, but... you... actually _like_ how it tastes down there?”

Max had taken Cole’s advice and told Dorian how good he thought Dorian tasted. Still, Dorian being all insecure about it – well, Max found it absolutely adorable. He pressed a soft kiss to Dorian’s neck as his hand swept down Dorian’s hip. “Honestly, Dorian, you taste... almost sweet. Very clean.”

“Well, I am familiar with personal hygiene, you know! And I – _uh._..” Dorian said, his words cut off with a soft moan as Max’s hand slipped down between his legs again, gently stroking, driving him to distraction. “Yes, ah... I think going down on Dorian is an excellent idea.”

 


	14. The Fade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Then they were falling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this is my second favorite chapter for...reasons. I hope you all like it as much as I do!
> 
> Kudos if you catch _The Lion of Winter_ line I blatantly appropriated.

Sex with the Inquisitor _did_ get better.

It took a few times for Dorian to become accustomed to the sensation of Max inside him. To get past his distaste. To stop worrying and just relax. To enjoy it. After all, there were a large number of nerves there, inside him, that felt good when Max stimulated them.

One evening, after dinner, Dorian lay on the bed in the Inquisitor’s quarters, groaning softly as Max’s tongue worked its magic between Dorian’s legs.

Suddenly, Max withdrew. Between his legs, Dorian felt the sweet, needy ache of his swollen flesh. He protested softly, “Maker, why did you _stop?”_

Max was already reaching for Dorian. Urging him up and over. “Because I want to be inside you. When I make you come.”

Dorian found himself in a familiar position – on hands and knees, a man kneeling behind him. He felt the tease of Max’s cock rubbing up and down against him before Max lined himself up and nudged his way in.

Dorian moaned as Max rocked into him in a smooth, easy rhythm. Maybe it was due to the position, but oh, gods, it felt good. Things felt even better when Max’s hand reached under him to caress his breasts, buffeting Dorian with waves of pleasure as he thumbed over Dorian’s now aching nipples. Dorian was delirious by the time Max’s hand slid down between his legs, one finger seeking, finding and then swirling around and around Dorian’s sweet spot.

Dorian was moaning even louder now as Max continued to push up into him, finger still moving, coaxing Dorian to his peak.

Hands griping the sheets, Dorian thrust back, grinding against him, eliciting a gasp from Max’s throat.

“Ah... fuck, Max, I’m... uh, yes! _Maker yes...!”_

Max groaned, unable to maintain control as Dorian spasmed around him. With a cry, he buried himself deep in Dorian, arching as he throbbed his release.

After, they collapsed, breathless and sated, on the bed.

A moment later, Max gathered Dorian into his arms for their usual post-tumble snuggling, and drew up the sheet.

Dorian sighed with contentment as he lazily pushed his hair back over his shoulder. “That was... rather nice.”

 _That_ was an understatement.

“I liked it, too,” Max said. Dorian could hear the pleasure in his voice. “Coming together – we should try to do it more often. Well, once this business with the Venatori is taken care of.”

 _Venatori – always killing the mood._ At least the Inquisitor had opted to put pleasure before business this evening. “So... we’re really going to Adamant tomorrow?”

“Yes. According to Hawke and Alistair, your friend Livius Erimond – ”

“Not my friend!” Dorian trilled.

“– very well, your _not-friend_ Livius Erimond,” Max corrected himself, “did indeed make his way to Adamant. And the Grey Wardens have been gathering there. It seems inevitable that he will try to complete the ritual this time.”

Dorian’s teeth worried at his bottom lip as he thought. “It sounds dangerous. You did say Adamant was a fortress? Oh, and most likely overrun with demons by now.”

“Well, I did meet with the advisers this afternoon, and they did have a plan...”

Dorian listened as Max explained the advisers’ plan. Cullen – leading the Inquisition’s forces, would lay siege to the fortress. And – since Cullen was predictable – they would be using trebuchets. By using choke points to their advantage, they would hold back the demon army long enough for the Inquisitor and the inner circle to find Warden-Commander Clarel, and – hopefully – stop the madness.

As Dorian listened, he considered the change in Max’s demeanor.

Really, there were two Maxwell Trevelyans. As if his personality were split.

One Trevelyan was his lover. He treated Dorian like a precious thing. Like a delicate flower – not that he lacked passion. But his touch was always... considerate. Voice softer. Gaze deeper.

The other Trevelyan was his friend. Outside of the bedroom, there was something immensely intellectual about their exchanges. There was also a hint of competition – as though each man were trying to outdo the other with the better chess strategy, the most obscure philosophical tenant, the most efficient way to kill a darkspawn. Then, Max’s voice would be harder. Gaze sharper. And he was more likely to make good-natured fun of Dorian.

Although, thinking about it, Dorian realized something. It wasn’t that there were two Trevelyans. The problem was that Max – on some unconscious level, Dorian supposed – made a distinction between Dorians.

Dorian fretted. Max had claimed that he wanted more than sex or friendship. But Dorian didn’t entirely believe him.

_What does this man want? How does he really feel? He won’t want me after I change – so why can’t I just walk away? Why does even the thought of leaving him make my heart hurt so?_

“Dorian? Are you even listening to me? You seem... distracted.”

“Of course I’m distracted. Sex will do that – it’s distracting.”

Max chuckled. “True,” he agreed. He paused to sweep his fingers through Dorian’s hair. “Anyway, I asked you a question. If you would be willing to come to Adamant. To fight by my side.”

Dorian considered that. “You know I will,” he said. “ _Someone_ has to keep the Inquisitor from being killed.”

***

Then they were falling.

The battle had been hard. Once Cullen and his men had seized the fortress, they’d had to fight for every inch of their advance. Finally, they’d reached Commander-Warden Clarel. The Inquisitor had convinced her of Erimond’s deceit.

Erimond, coward that he was, had escaped again.

Clarel gave chase. The Inquisitor raced after them. Dorian remained close to his beloved Inquisitor’s side. Upon the parapet, they caught up with Clarel and Erimond, in the middle of a magic duel.

Which Clarel would have won, if Erimond hadn’t summoned the Elder One’s _fucking_ dragon.

And yet, somehow, Clarel had managed to _take down the fucking dragon._

Except that she had also destroyed the parapet they were standing on.

Which is why they were now falling.

They were speeding down, down, down towards the ground. It was all happening so fast. Dorian barely managed to keep hold of his staff. Panic made it hard to think. There wasn’t _time_ to think. If he had something useful in his arsenal of spells. The ground coming up so quick...

Then, right below him, there was a sound like a thunderclap as a hole was suddenly torn in the fabric of reality. Crackle of green energy, that made the air taste funny. And then, there was absolutely nothing that Dorian could do.

He fell through the rift.

And – despite all logic – landed quite gracefully on his feet.

He quickly looked around. He wasn’t alone. Solas and Vivienne were also here. And – looking up – standing on what should have been the rocky walls – were Hawke and Alistair.

The Inquisitor was nowhere to be seen.

For a moment, it felt as though an icy hand had clenched around Dorian’s heart.

_Maker, he isn’t coming. This is it. This is where I finally lose him forever._

He choked on the silent sob in his throat.

Then, far above their heads, the rift crackled, allowing a figure to pass through it. Falling, the Inquisitor.

_Thank the Maker._

He landed gracelessly with a grunt. Heaved himself off the ground. Looked about, his expression baffled.

“Well,” Alistair said. “This was unexpected.”

“We were falling,” Hawke said. “If this is the afterlife, the Chantry owes me an apology. Thislooks _nothing_ like the Maker’s bosom.”

“No,” Solas said. “This is the Fade. The Inquisitor opened a rift... we came through... and survived.”

Hawke scanned their surroundings. “The Fade looked much different the last time I was here.”

 _The Fade?_ Dorian marveled. “The first time I entered the Fade,” Dorian said, his voice surprisingly steady, “it looked like a lovely castle filled with gold and silks. I met a marvelous desire demon, as I recall. We chatted and ate grapes before he attempted to possess me.” He cocked his head. “Perhaps the difference is that we are here physically. This is no one’s dream.”

“There was a rift in the main hall,” Alistair said. “Do you think we can get out that way?”

The Inquisitor’s gaze skimmed over his companions. He didn’t know. But he couldn’t say that. “There were demons on the other side of that rift. We may have to fight our way out, but... that seems like our best option. Let’s go.”

***

Temptation.

That’s what it said on Dorian’s tombstone in the tiny little graveyard tucked into one corner of the Fade, after they’d defeated even _more_ fearlings.

Which prompted Dorian to have this thought:

_The Fade is immensely terrifying and completely fucked up._

First, they’d met the Divine Justinia. Except that it wasn’t really the Divine – no, it was most likely some sort of demon. Except that the demon – or spirit, or whatever it was – had been helping them along, which, by the tits of Andraste, was a good enough reason for the Inquisitor to keep following the thing.

Only later did it occur to Dorian that his lover was absolutely terrified and had no clue about what to do, but was putting on a bravado he didn’t feel – just like the rest of them.

Second – if they were to believe the Divine-demon thing – they wouldn’t be able to escape the raw Fade until they’d retrieved all the memories the so-called “Nightmare” had stolen from the Inquisitor. An enterprise which had not been fun. And which was dreadfully bizarre, because every time the Inquisitor regained a lost memory, all of them relived it. Grand flashing fear, right before all their eyes.

And the kicker of it all: that their so-called “Herald of Andraste” was a lie. Max hadn’t been sent as an emissary of the goddess. No. It had been Corypheus’ magic orb that had bestowed the mark upon his hand all along.

Not that Max had ever admitted out loud that he truly believed himself Andraste’s herald, it had become obvious to Dorian that Max _wanted_ it to be true. That he’d been chosen for a divine mission. That he was special. Given his background of pious family coupled with nearly lifelong service to the Chantry – well, for Max, the idea of a divine-decreed destiny must have been very real.

Except – no. It was a random event. A matter of being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Third, the Nightmare now knew they were here. It sent many demons and fearlings to kill them. It also liked taunting them. Digging right into their heads and feasting on their fears.

Dorian had not been made an exception to the Nightmare’s taunts.

_Greetings, Dorian. It is Dorian, isn’t it? For a moment I mistook you for your mother._

_Well,_ Dorian thought. _It could have been worse._ He clucked his tongue at the Nightmare. “Rather uncalled for,” he muttered.

And now, this – the graveyard.

There was a grave marker for everyone in the inner circle. Vivienne’s read “Irrelevance.” Solas’ read “Dying alone.” It didn’t take long to figure out that what was written on each tomb was everyone’s deepest, darkest fear.

Dorian snorted to himself. “As if I would ever.”

“Give in to the temptation of blood magic? Are you that sure?”

A bolt of icy fear shot down Dorian’s spine at the sound of that voice. He _knew_ that voice. His heart nearly seized as he spun around to see an elf perched on the Iron Bull’s tombstone. But not just any elf.

Rilienus.

Dorian’s hand tightened around his staff, knuckles bloodless. “You!” he seethed. “You dare to take his form!”

The demon cocked his head, giving Dorian a certain, playful look. A look that Dorian recalled all too well. “I can take any form,” the demon said, then purred, “Dorian.”

A voice floated over. “My dear, are you all right?”

Dorian glanced quickly behind him. Vivienne was closest to him, standing just outside the graveyard. A few yards back, Solas was watching. The Inquisitor, however, was much farther away, in a huddle with Hawke and Alistair, unaware.

“Perfectly fine,” Dorian shot back. “Just having a little chat with the demon who changed me!”

“You know...” the demon said, then lifted a hand, delicately stroking its chin. Maker, all of Rilienus’ mannerisms – the demon had them down. “It would be easy for me to change you back.”

“Oh, would it now?” Dorian said. “I don’t suppose you’d do it out of the kindness of your heart?”

“What would you give, Dorian Pavus, to be yourself again?”

The problem with demons, is that they only wanted one of two things: blood, or to possess a living host. Dorian had no intention of helping the demon have either. “I was hoping you’d be more agreeable,” Dorian said, then lifted his staff. “Solas! Vivienne! Now!”

The other two mages had stealthily been moving closer, and were now just a few feet behind Dorian. All at once, magic exploded, crashing down upon the demon.

The demon screamed.

On the other side of the clearing, Hawke, Alistair and Max startled.

Dorian staggered forward, jabbing the demon, now pinned to the ground, with the end of his staff. “May I suggest you change me back now? In exchange, I’ll let you live.”

Powerless, the demon glared up at him. Considered its options. “Very well. We have a deal. Release me.”

After a quick exchange of glances, the other mages lifted their magical hold on the demon.

The demon stood up, casually brushing the dust from its clothes. Shaking back its hair, it gave Dorian a cross look. “Those clothes won’t fit you when I’m done,” he said. “Better if you take them off before we begin.”

Max had started running when he heard the scream, with Hawke and Alistair close behind him. Except, just before he reached the low wall that surrounded the graveyard, he came to a screeching halt.

There was an elf he didn’t know. And Dorian had taken off his bodice, tunic, and pants, and was now pushing down and stepping out of his small clothes.

“Oh my,” Alistair stuttered as he quickly averted his eyes. “Ah... Hawke? Ah... please tell me if something happens that I need to look?”

Hawke turned to Max. “Inquisitor? Do you know what’s going on here?”

He didn’t. Except that whatever was happening, both Solas and Vivienne were in on it. They stood a few feet behind Dorian, vigilant, staves at the ready. “I can’t say for certain, but it seems safe to assume that elf is not actually an elf.”

Dorin tossed his smalls aside. He was naked in the Fade. A truly terrible sensation.

But a quick glance about revealed that the Grey Warden was staring at the ground. Solas and Vivienne were focused on the demon. Which meant that only Max and Hawke were looking at him.

He supposed it could have been worse.

“Cast your spell, demon.”

Pain was a lightning bolt, jagging straight through him. Renting him asunder.

Inside him, something was... changing. Raw magic, altering reality. Transforming his very flesh and bones. Maker, it hurt. Pain beyond comprehension.

In the distance he heard what sounded like Rilienus begging. Then Rilienus screaming.

And then, suddenly, pain receded, leaving him limp and helpless, writhing on the cold, hard ground. For a long time, Dorian floated in a haze, insensate, before hands reached for him. Hands on his arms, pulling him to his feet.

“Dorian...?”

“Are you all right, my dear?”

Solas and Vivienne were supporting him now, one on either side. “The demon...?” he rasped out.

“You promised not to kill the demon,” Solas said. “But _we_ didn’t.”

“Oh, Maker,” he barely heard Hawke murmur. “Ah, Alistair? It’s your turn to tell me when to look.”

Dorian looked down at himself.

Glorious!

Except he was still naked in the Fade. And everyone, this time, except for Hawke, was looking at him.

Including the Inquisitor. Who was wearing an expression that was impossible to read. Blank as an Orlesian mask.

“Be sure to squint,” Dorian announced. “Or you may be blinded by my beauty. Better yet, if anyone happens to have any extra clothes, I’d much rather prefer not to traipse around indecently in the Fade.”

“Ah,” Vivienne said. “I may be able to help you out, my dear.”

Once she was certain that he was steady on his feet, Vivienne carefully released Dorian’s arm. She then made a complex series of gestures and conjured up a wooden chest. Crouching down, she opened it up and started rummaging inside.

“I can’t guarantee anything good, but Bastien did leave some things in here – ah, try these.”

Dorian pulled on the pale, sand colored pants. Once laced, they fit him fairly well. Over this, he pulled a simple white tunic. Finally, after some effort, he tugged on a pair of black boots, which pinched a little, but were better than nothing.

He wasn’t dressed well, but at least he was dressed.

Solas handed him his staff.

Just in time, too, because Hawke, who’d still been looking in the other direction, saw the flash of movement before the rest of them did.

“Demons! To arms!”

***

Between them and the rift, the Nightmare.

“How do we get by?” Alistair shouted.

“Go!” Hawke’s eyes were fierce, determined. “I’ll cover you!”

“No, you were right. The Wardens caused this mess. A warden must...”

“A warden must help them rebuild! That’s your job!”

Max whirled on them. “Shut up!”

That burst of anger was so uncharacteristic of the man, that they both actually froze.

“No one is going to remain here!” Max growled. “Is that clear?”

“But the Nightmare...”

Max turned. The others had gone ahead. He wasn’t sure how far they’d gotten. Still... “Dorian! Solas! Vivienne! Blast this damn demon out of the way!”

_Maker, please..._

Suddenly, there was a burst of magic. The Nightmare flew up in the air, then landed on its back, several yards away. Not far, but perhaps far enough...?

“Now! Run!”

They ran. Past the Nightmare, that was already scrambling to its numerous feet. Up ahead of them, Max glimpsed the mages as they disappeared through the rift. Blast of heat from the Nightmare’s breath against his back as he threw himself into the rift...

***

In the main hall, Varric fretted.

They’d been fighting demons for hours. They were following the Commander’s orders now that the Inquisitor was missing. Curly seemed so confident that the Inquisitor would return. Varric, on the other hand, was not so optimistic.

Worse, Dorian was down there. And, worst of all, Hawke. His best friend in all the world.

But, just when his mood couldn’t get any bleaker, three figures darted out through the rift. Solas, Vivienne, and another man.

It didn’t quite register with Varric why that was strange. No, he was still mostly worried about Hawke. He needed her to come out.

A moment later, Hawke and Alistair did indeed emerge, running as if an archdemon were behind them. A moment later, the Inquisitor leaped through. Stumbling, he quickly spun about, lifting the hand with the mark, obliterating all the demons in a heartbeat and sealing off the rift.

He had to admit that the Inquisitor was getting pretty good with the magic hand trick.

It still hadn’t occurred to Varric that something was off. Not until Sera, standing near him, wailed in a plaintive voice. “Dorian? Where’s Dorian...?”

Oh shit.

For a moment, no one moved. Nor said anything.

Then the strange man shifted his weight. Adjusted his staff as he crossed his arms. Tilting his head, he cocked one of his eyebrows, then loudly cleared his throat. “Ahem!”

They stared at him.

Bronze skin. Long dark hair pulled back in a loose braid. A beauty mark high on his cheekbone, near his right eye. And a very familiar looking mage staff in his hand.

Sera stepped forward. “Dorian...?”

He grinned. “Yes, Sera?”

Sera froze for a moment, still in disbelief. Then she just as quickly unfroze, and threw herself at him.

Dorian caught the elf, naturally enfolding her in his arms.

“Dorian!” Sera sniffled. “You twat! You made me think for a moment that you were dead!”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” Dorian murmured. “Entirely unintentional, I assure you.”

“Do it again, and I’ll shove an arrow up your arse.”

“That would only be fair.”

Suddenly, Sera jerked back. “Ugh. I could feel your man parts. They’re all lumpy.”

“Lumpy?” Dorian repeated. “Tch! I’m trying not to be offended by that.”

Bull had also approached. “Damn, ‘Vint. Most people are stuck with ugly in one gender. Seems kind of unfair that you get to be this pretty in both.”

Flash of white teeth. “Well, it is a burden I must bear.”

Varric marveled. “It really is you, Sparkler, isn’t it?” he murmured. “And – this is how you looked before?”

“Well, I haven’t had a chance to look in a mirror, but... I think so.” Dorian paused, running his fingers over his upper lip. “Well, except for the mustache. The one I had was spectacular. It took me three months to grow it out perfectly!” He then ran a hand over his hair. “Oh, and I’ll need a haircut.”

Sera piped up. “I’ll cut it for you!”

“What? The girl who doesn’t even know the word for scissors? Absolutely not!”

“Pfft! Cranky.”

Dorian finally felt his fear and tension receding. They’d won the battle at Adamant. They’d all made it alive out of the Fade. After more than two years, he was finally _normal_ again. And he was surrounded by good people who cared about him. His friends.

As he glanced up, he spotted the Inquisitor, surrounded by a throng of people. Cullen and his men among them. Except that the Inquisitor was looking directly at him.

Dorian’s eyes locked with his.

Again, his face was blank, as smooth as a mask.

Dorian smiled at him.

The Inquisitor smiled back.

 _Good,_ Dorian told himself. _Everything is going to be okay._

 


	15. Hypocrite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Dorian,” Max said patiently. “We need to talk.”

Shortly after their return to Skyhold, the Inquisitor went to visit Dorian in the library.

The trip back from Adamant Fortress had taken over two weeks. During those two weeks, Max had managed to avoid being alone with Dorian. Given how they were camping out with the entire inner circle and a sizable contingent of Cullen’s troops, it wasn’t really that difficult. They’d spoken in passing, but there had always been the eyes and ears of others nearby. They were very clearly being watched.

Of course they were being watched. There had been rumors of their being intimate even before they’d kissed. And it wasn’t like either one had denied it, or made any great effort to hide their relationship. So, now... everyone was watching. Waiting to see what happened between the Inquisitor and his lover, who was now, physically, a man.

More than two weeks since the demon had changed Dorian back. They hadn’t had the conversation yet – the one that would decide the course of their relationship. Max knew that he couldn’t really put it off any longer.

He found Dorian standing before the shelves.

Before Max could even greet him, Dorian began complaining about the state of the Inquisition’s library. How the gifts they’d received really weren’t up to par. How the Inquisitor ought to hire a rebellious heretic archivist so that Dorian wouldn’t have to deal with this mess. And hadn’t he seen something by Genitivi here...?

By now, Max knew all of Dorian’s quirks and idiosyncrasies. Such as how he tended to talk too much when he was nervous. “Dorian,” Max said patiently. “We need to talk.”

Dorian’s hand, poised over the spine of one of the books, froze briefly. Dropping his hand, he turned to Max, with a too-innocent look. “Talk? About what?”

“I was thinking we could talk about happened at Adamant. Are you... okay?”

Dorian placed a hand against the shelf as he considered the Inquisitor. The man had been avoiding him. Not... aggressively avoiding him – it wasn’t as if he ran in the other direction any time Dorian approached him, but still... So he was vaguely relieved that Max had sought him out. And that the familiar concern was in the man’s eyes.

“Falling into the rift at Adamant and walking physically through the Fade…it was terrifying,” Dorian admitted. “But I was able to face my demon – the one my father foolishly trusted to ‘fix’ me. I feel whole again. I am myself again.” Dorian paused, then smiled. “It’s quite liberating really.”

“Maker, Dorian, I’m...”

Max trailed off. He didn’t know _what_ he was. He still hadn’t gotten over that terrible moment in the Fade when Dorian – _his_ Dorian – changed into someone else. Into _this._ This _man._

Max had considered the new Dorian as objectively as possible during the trip, from across the camp, whenever Dorian wasn’t looking.

Objectively, the mage was a handsome thirty-year-old man. Tall – as tall as Max, broad across the chest and shoulders, and more muscled than most of Cullen’s recruits. His face was also different. So male – all planes and angles and strong jaw. Lips still curving, but not soft. Eyebrows much heavier. And his nose was completely different – aquiline, suggesting a Tevinter bloodline that could be traced back centuries. Only his bronze skin, his gray eyes, the beauty mark, and his heavy dark hair – which he hadn’t yet cut – were exactly the same. And his voice – although it had dropped nearly an octave – still possessed the same cadences.

Even so, this is what Dorian wanted. His problem was solved. It would be selfish of Max to wish it otherwise.

“I’m happy for you,” Max said.

Something in Dorian’s gray eyes grew soft. “Max,” he murmured. Stepping forward, he closed the distance between them, lifting a hand towards Max’s face. “I never thought–”

Max had been fine with the fact that Dorian was a man. In theory. In practice, however, as a man came at him, Max reacted.

Max’s reaction was almost comical. If they’d been in a play – and it would have been a farce – the audience would have rolled in the aisles. As Dorian reached for him, Max took a hasty step back. Into a stack of books that Dorian had left on the floor near his chair. As the books toppled, the Inquisitor stumbled back into the opposing shelves, jostling those books out of place, and knocking three more to the floor.

On his face flashed an expression akin to horror.

Dorian felt his heart sinking. Maker, he’d read that all wrong. “Max, I thought...” Dorian paused, swallowing against the peach-pit sized lump that had just appeared in his throat. “You said that nothing about me could ever disgust you.”

Max cringed. His voice was low, strained. “I... Dorian... this is a lot to take in... I mean... I... I just...”

As the Inquisitor stammered, Dorian’s expression hardened. “Yes, I understand,” he said, his voice pure frost. “Go on, then.”

Proverbial tail between his legs, and without meeting Dorian’s eyes, the Inquisitor slunk out.

***

Dorian decided that the best course of action was to proceed with haste to the Herald’s Rest and drink himself into a stupor.

He had nearly reached his goal when Varric sat down next to him at the bar, folded his hands, and gave Dorian a long, assessing look. “You want to talk about it, Sparkler?”

“Talk? About what?”

“About whatever’s driving you to drink whiskey before lunch.”

Dorian stared down into his glass. “Nothing, really. Just the look on his face when I went to touch him. Like I was going to infect him with _the fucking_ _Blight.”_

“Ah,” Varric said. He wasn’t really surprised. The only thing that was surprising was that this hadn’t happened sooner. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but...did you really expect something different?”

“No,” Dorian said dejectedly. “But I – not that I _should_ have – but I’d _hoped._ That it wouldn’t matter. That he’d still want to... stay together.”

“It’s over, then?”

Dorian slumped. “Apparently so.”

Varric studied the despondent mage. “But weren’t you friends before all this romance business started?”

Dorian wrapped both hands around his glass. Squeezed. “I don’t know if we _can_ be friends. Not after what we...” Dorian trailed off. Closed his eyes, thinking of the last time they’d been intimate – in Max’s tent, the night before they’d reached Adamant. Max beneath him, kisses hot and eager, fingers teasing, trying to hold back his cries lest the others hear, as Dorian rode him to their mutual peak...

He squeezed his glass again.

“The Inquisitor treasures your friendship,” Varric pointed out. “I doubt he’d cast it aside so easily. Just... try to put yourself in his shoes. How would you feel if Trevelyan suddenly had the body of a woman?”

Dorian paused to consider that. He’d kissed a woman once, when he was young, quite publicly, at a party. He hadn’t really cared much for it. But, at the time, he’d needed to pretend to the world that he was a “normal” boy, and “normal” boys liked girls. And he found it difficult to imagine himself deriving pleasure from caressing or kissing a woman’s body, even if it _did_ belong to the Inquisitor. Still... “I wouldn’t flinch back in _horror.”_

Varric was quiet, trying to absorb some of Dorian’s pain. He still wasn’t surprised. Their Inquisitor was a remarkably open-minded man, but he was still a Templar, and of all men who swung swords, the Templars were the most manly. If by “manly” one meant homophobic.

Varric sighed. “Maybe you both just need some time to figure things out.”

Dorian stared down into his glass again, and spoke softly. “Perhaps you’re right.”

***

The Inquisitor fled to the battlements.

The air was cold against his face, stinging his cheeks pink, as he stared out over the Frostbacks, waiting for his heart to stop racing.

He couldn’t get the image of Dorian – looking at him, heart-broken, in the library – out of his head. Maker’s breath, Max had handled the situation so poorly. Hurting Dorian was the last thing he’d meant to do. By Dorian’s expression, it was as if Max had unexpectedly plunged a dagger into his chest.

In his own chest, Max could feel a thin blade, made of anger.

_I have no right to feel this,_ Max told himself. Still, a part of him  _was_ angry. Angry that Dorian had changed. That the mage had been willing – no, eager – to sacrifice what he’d had with Max in order to have his old body back. He knew it was terribly selfish of him, but he wished that Dorian could have remained a woman forever. 

Echo of Cole:  _Wishing, wanting – you think wishing makes you a bad man._

With the threat of the world’s imminent destruction hanging over them, Max didn’t spend much time thinking about the future. At least not in any concrete way. He and Dorian hadn’t talked about it, either, but, in any thoughts about his future, he’d imagined Dorian there with him. As his friend. His lover. And he was a Pavus, so Max’s family wouldn’t have disapproved if Dorian were to become his... his...

A small noise of dismay caught in Max’s throat. He lifted a hand, pressing it to his mouth, as if that could hold back his pain.

In the two weeks since Adamant, Max had had plenty of time to think about his relationship with Dorian. He’d wondered if they could continue to be intimate without having sex. Even if Max had wanted to have a male lover, he was still a Trevelyan, a Templar, and the leader of the Inquisition. He was under scrutiny from all angles. His reputation was already stained from the fact that he’d taken up with a mage from Tevinter. For him to openly pursue a sexual relationship with a _male_ mage from Tevinter would probably destroy his reputation entirely.

Well, excepting at the Orlesian court – no one in the aristocracy would bat an eye over a relationship between two men.

But now he’d hurt Dorian deeply. He didn’t know if he could fix it. He didn’t know what to do.

Glancing down to his right, he stared at the door to Cullen’s office. It was mostly likely that the Commander was inside. By now, Cullen was used to the Inquisitor’s interruptions. In fact, he might even appreciate a chance to sneak away for a game of chess.

And then... they could talk.

The Inquisitor pulled his cloak tighter about his shoulders and headed downstairs.

***

Cullen stared down at the open case on his desk. It had been a long time since he’d even opened it.

His lyrium kit.

As he looked at the familiar pale blue liquid – the lyrium infusion – Cullen felt it. That deep-seated, unquenchable, mindless _need._ It was almost beyond his control. A demon that rode him not only in his darkest nights, but also in the bright, optimistic light of day.

Cullen clenched his hands into fists. His breaths rapid and shallow.

He was a quivering sack of flesh, hollowed out and consumed by his addiction.

His insatiable need.

_No!_

Inside, Cullen was screaming. With a roar, he snatched up the box, launching it across the room, where it smashed, shattering to pieces, as it struck the wall...

… directly next to the Inquisitor’s head.

Max stared at Cullen, blue eyes wide.

“Maker’s breath,” Cullen swore, mortified that he’d nearly hit his beloved Inquisitor. “I didn’t hear you enter. I... forgive me...”

Max was trying to ignore the lyrium infusion now dripping down the wall. But its familiar metallic smell was in his nostrils. He barely resisted the urge to lean over and lick it off the wall.

Cullen took a step. Staggered. Both hands on the desk to keep from falling.

Max dashed to Cullen’s side, offering support. This close, he could see the waxy pallor of his skin, the sheen of sweat, and hear his shallow breath. “Commander! Are you–”

Cullen straightened, shrinking back from Max. He didn’t want the Inquisitor to see him like this – weak. “Forgive me,” he muttered again. “I never meant for this to interfere.”

“Cullen,” the Inquisitor said quietly. “I  _know.”_

“Don’t,” Cullen snapped. “You should be questioning what I’ve done.”

Max put his hands on his hips and watched as Cullen began to angrily pace about the room.

“I thought this would be better – that I would regain some control over my life. But these thoughts won’t leave me – ” As he spoke, his hand gestures became more erratic and violent, his voice rising. “How many lives depend on our success? I swore myself to this cause. I will  _not_ give less to the Inquisition than I did the Chantry. I should be taking it!” 

Cullen spun. Slammed his fist into the bookshelf. Books fell.

His voice was merely a whisper, cracking with emotion. “I should be taking it.”

Max knew this feeling. That sick, shaky one, where all of his being cried out for the lyrium. Most of the time, he resisted. But not always. He and Cullen had both started taking lyrium at the age of eighteen, when they’d become fully-fledged members of the Order. Which meant that Max had been taking lyrium for seven years. But, Cullen, five years older than Max, had been using it for twelve. Which mean that his dependence was more deeply entrenched.

Cullen didn’t know that Max was still using it. At Cassandra’s insistence, he’d kept his use a secret. As Cassandra had pointed out, two addicts would only fuel each others’ need. Which meant that the Inquisitor had to pretend to everyone – especially Cullen – that he was lyrium-free. That they were in this together.

Which meant that Max was a terrible hypocrite.

“You give enough, Cullen. I’m not asking you for more.”

Cullen’s eyes met his.

“The Inquisition can be our chance to start over – if we stay strong.”

Cullen turned, speaking softly. “I don’t know if that’s possible.”

Max stepped forward, placed a hand on Cullen’s shoulder, and with an utter conviction he did not feel, said, “It is.”

Funny, Max thought, how easily he could lie to everyone about his addiction.

Even funnier, he had no problem putting his hand on Cullen while they were alone in Cullen’s office, but when Dorian had tried, Max had nearly tripped over himself to avoid the other man’s touch.

Cullen looked at him. Eyes darting. Then he sighed with relief. “All right.”

Max dropped his hand.

Cullen then cocked his head as he considered the Inquisitor. “I... Maker’s breath. You came here for a reason, and I... I was too wrapped up in my own problems, and...” Cullen trailed off, his eyes scrutinizing. But it wasn’t too difficult to figure out what the Inquisitor’s current problem might  _be._ “It’s about Dorian, isn’t it?”

Max paused. Perhaps he hadn’t really thought this through. What  _was_ he going to say to Cullen? That  he’d actually asked himself if he’d be fine with letting another man sodomize him?

Max made a dismissive gesture. “It doesn’t matter.”

Cullen stepped forward, determined. “It does matter!”

“Cullen. You have enough on your plate. I don’t want to burden you.”

Cullen’s gaze grew soft. “Inquisitor. You do know that I will never judge you... don’t you?”

Max smiled, a bit wry. “Not even if I hand the power of the Anchor over to the Elder One?”

Cullen smiled back. “But you would never do anything like that. I have placed my faith in you, Inquisitor. I know that you will do what is right.” Cullen paused, thoughtful. “You’re a good man, Max. But you are a man, so that means I do not expect you to be  _perfect.”_

Max resisted the urge to fiddle with the objects on Cullen’s desk. “I... thank you, Cullen,” he finally said. Then he smiled. “Perhaps you’d care to play a game of chess?”

 


	16. The Winter Palace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What you need is a distraction,” he murmured. “I have just the thing.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My favorite chapter. Everyone, meet Lily Petals (aka Six, aka Madame Daffodil, aka the infamous bard from Antiva). The lesson being don't make friends with fanfiction writers because then we do stuff like put you in the story.

His friends – Sera, Varric, Bull and Krem – kept him afloat. To realize that he had genuine friends – people who cared deeply about him – in the Inquisition was both relieving and surprising.

The Inquisitor had been avoiding him. _Giving him space,_ was how Varric had worded it. And yet, when the Inquisition had decided to head to the Winter Palace to avert the assassination attempt on Empress Celine’s life, Dorian had been informed that he was on the Inquisitor’s short list of companions requested for the assignment. 

Dorian, along with Cassandra, Vivienne, and Varric – all of them were familiar with courtly ways. And Bull, who was an expert on gathering information.

Regardless of his feelings for the Inquisitor, Dorian was still a member of the Inquisition. Devoted to the cause. If he was needed, then he could not refuse.

Once at the Winter Palace, the Inquisition’s agents spread out. Spying. Listening. Gathering intel and rumor. Anything to unearth the treachery lurking in the heart of the Orlesian court.

Dorian hadn’t spoken to the Inquisitor since that moment in the library when Max had run away from him.  _Rejected_ him. But when the man approached him in the courtyard where he’d stationed himself, Dorian steeled himself and acted as if nothing were amiss.

“ This is all so familiar,” Dorian remarked. “I half expect my mother to materialize from the crowd and criticize my manners.”

The Inquisitor regarded him, all business. “Have you seen anything I should know about?”

So far, Dorian – despite his best efforts – hadn’t. Of course, given his status as a mage from Tevinter – word had spread quickly – he wasn’t exactly popular. “Other than an overabundance of lavender perfume? No, nothing extraordinary.”

Max paused. Dorian considered him. Spine stiff. Holding himself at a distance. And so very wickedly handsome in the Inquisition’s formal attire of blue-sashed, gold-capped, red jacket over dark brown pants, boots.

The Inquisitor gave him a curious cock of the head. “Is this how the elite of Tevinter carry on?”

Dorian had half-expected the Inquisitor to flit off again, now that Dorian had given his rather meager report. “You could almost mistake this for a soiree in the Imperium. The same double dealing, elegant poison, canapes... it’s lacking only a few sacrificial slaves and some blood magic. But the night _is_ still young.”

That. It was so... _Dorian._ Max could feel his facade crumbling. Leaning closer in, he lowered his voice. “Maker, Dorian – I’ve missed you.”

Dorian felt his heart convulse in his chest. He averted his eyes, unable to look at the raw emotion on Max’s face. Willed himself not to react. Everyone in the courtyard was watching them, even as they pretended they weren’t. “Don’t make a scene,” Dorian whispered fiercely back. “Not here, not now. We’ll talk... later.”

With an effort, Max composed himself, blanking out his expression. He gave Dorian a quick nod before he slipped off.

At first, Dorian’s heart felt like it was made of clay. Soft. Malleable. But the more he thought about it, the more aggravated he became.

_Max says he misses me. But_ he’s _the one who’s been avoiding me these past few weeks. You’d think the man could at least write a note, if he didn’t want to actually come to the library to speak with me. But he didn’t even_ try. 

He did see Max again in the courtyard about twenty minutes later. This time, his expression was determined.

“Dorian. I need you to cause a distraction so I can climb that rose trellis over there.”

Dorian stared at him in disbelief. “You’re going to what?!”

“Now, Dorian,” Max ordered, already moving off again.

_Kaffas!_ For a moment Dorian considered what he could possibly do to cause a distraction. Unfortunately, he didn’t know how to juggle. Which did leave the obvious option: magic.

Some fireworks in the sky, and the crowd was sufficiently distracted. No one but Dorian saw the Inquisitor climb up the rose trellis to the second floor.

He didn’t see the Inquisitor again until everything was all said and done. The Empress saved, and her would-be assassin under arrest.

There were some lovely speeches, then the guests returned to their dancing and drinking.

The Inquisition met up in one corner of the ballroom.

Dorian had missed the action. Apparently the others had gone on a spree collecting blackmail and fighting Venatori agents. So he felt a bit miffed that he’d been left out. Not only had he been left out, he hadn’t been helpful in any way. He might as well have stayed back in Skyhold.

Of course, they couldn’t go back to Skyhold yet. The Inquisitor and Josephine had agreed to stay for the peace talks that would be taking place later.

They were just going their separate ways when a woman’s voice floated over.

“Leliana? Is that really you?”

As Leliana turned, her face lit up with happy surprise. “Lily? I didn’t expect to see you at the Winter Palace. What are you doing here?”

Everyone turned to study the woman named Lily.

She was tall and slender, dressed in flowing silks that seemed to swirl, cloud-like, as she walked, but below the silks she boasted some rather pleasing, feminine curves. By her coloring – darkly golden skin, hair coffee black – she was Antivan. A heart-shaped face, pretty features, flashing white teeth, and wide, dark eyes that could drown a man. Strapped across her back, a lute case. Bells and daffodils woven into her hair.

Even to Dorian – who generally didn’t pay too much attention to women’s looks – she was stunning.

“Who, me? I’ve been in Orlais for a month, as a guest of Duke Desjardins. When I heard that the Inquisition was attending tonight’s ball, I had to come, and – Josephine? You’re here, too?”

The three women formed a circle, babbling happily and air-kissing each others’ cheeks. Then, as if just remembering he was there, Josephine turned back around and indicated Max.

“Lily, let me introduce you to the Inquisitor, Maxwell Trevelyan. Inquisitor, this is Lily Petals, the –”

Max finished his ambassador’s sentence before she could. “– infamous bard from Antiva.”

Soft, lyrical laughter bubbled up behind Lily’s elegant hand. “Of course I remember _you,”_ she said. “How could I possibly forget?”

Cullen, who had lingered, now snickered softly at Max’s elbow. “You know, Inquisitor, you never did satisfactorily explain exactly _how_ your small clothes ended up in a tree that night.”

Dorian felt a strange pang of apprehension as Max flustered. And – _Maker!_ – was he actually _blushing?_

“Oh!” Leliana blurted out in surprise. “He’s that one?” She laughed. “You know, I had no idea that your young Templar and our Inquisitor were the same man.”

 _Your young Templar?_ Something invisible had just kicked Dorian in the chest. At least that’s what it felt like.

Lily pursed her lips. “You know, I almost didn’t recognize you with your clothes on.”

Max coughed into his fist. “I could say the same of you.”

Josephine’s eyes widened. “Oh, my!” Then she gave Max a saucy smile. “Inquisitor!”

No, as the Inquisitor continued to fluster and make fawn eyes at the bard, it felt like someone was poking Dorian’s heart with a sharp icicle. Repeatedly.

Even a blind man could have seen the sparks flying between them.

Suddenly Varric was tugging on his arm, dragging him away. “Come on, Sparkler. Let’s go grab some punch before they run out.”

***

Watching the Inquisitor dancing with the beautiful bard later, Dorian felt the jealousy inside him, clawing at him as if his guts were filled with rats.

Earlier, as Varric had pulled him away, the dwarf had muttered under his breath. “Pull it together, Sparkler. You look like you just swallowed a frog.”

Two cups of spiked punch later, Dorian stood at the railing, watching the dancers.

He’d told Max that he wasn’t a savage. That he wouldn’t set a woman on fire for making a pass at him. Except now, as Lily’s hand purposefully slid across Max’s face, Dorian had a very unkind thought:

_If she touches him again like that, I will burn that Antivan bitch to the ground._

Dorian was still feigning indifference to the best of his ability when Leliana stepped up and leaned on the railing next to him. 

“I haven’t seen you dance, Dorian,” Leliana said. “They don’t dance at parties in Tevinter?”

“Of course we do. We’re not heathens.” He watched Max twirl his partner around. Then he angled himself so he was facing Leliana. “So. What  _is_ the story between those two?”

Leliana glanced down at the dance floor. Lily had delighted in telling this story, so Leliana had heard it often. One night, while she was playing in a tavern in Ostwick, she had been approached by a small number of young Templars. Apparently, they had been celebrating the indoctrination of one of their brethren – a young man, it turned out, who had developed a serious crush on the bard. And, as was their custom whenever a new Templar was indoctrinated, they wished to play a prank on their companion. Having been well-paid for her involvement, Lily played along. She feigned interest in the young man’s attentions. Lured him away to a quiet place by the river, where she playfully suggested they skinny dip. Jumping at the chance, the young Templar had torn out of his armor, then his clothes, his eyes wide as Lily stood several feet away from him, slowly and seductively stripping off her own garments. Had convinced him to get into the water, close his eyes, and count to fifty.

Maker, when it came to women, Leliana mused, particularly pretty ones, men were such fools.

By the time the Templar had finished counting and opened his eyes, Lily was long gone. She had taken his armor, his sword, and his clothes – though these she returned to his Templar companions later. The only thing she had left behind was his small clothes, which she had tossed up into a nearby tree.

Lily had never found out whether the young Templar had managed to retrieve his small clothes from the tree, or had completed his walk of of shame back to the Circle in the very center of the city completely bare-ass naked.

Leliana offered Dorian a conciliatory smile. “If you want to know what happened, I suggest you ask the Inquisitor. He was there, after all.”

Dorian’s mouth twitched as his eyes fell back on the dancing couple.

“You know, Dorian,” Leliana said slowly. “It isn’t uncommon for people of the same sex to dance together in Orlais. Were you to ask the Inquisitor to dance, no one would think anything of it.”

“Yes,” Dorian said brusquely. “I’m quite aware of that fact.”

Silent, Leliana watched Dorian watch the dancers for another moment. Oh, it was subtle, but she could see when Dorian actually made his decision. There, in the briefest flicker of the corner of his mouth.

“If you’ll excuse me, Lady Nightingale.”

Leliana nodded. “Of course.”

As Dorian slipped gracefully away, Leliana remained at the railing. From here, she could see Dorian’s descent down the regal staircase, then watch him transverse the floor before finally reaching the couple in question. Some words were exchanged, and then Lily withdrew as Dorian elegantly pulled the Inquisitor into his arms.

A moment passed, then Lily appeared at Leliana’s side.

Both women watched the men dancing. Dorian was leading.

“They’re very pretty together,” Lily said. Then she cocked a pretty eyebrow at the redhead. “Do you think it worked?”

“Only time will tell.” Leliana smiled. “Thank you for agreeing to help, Lily. The way those two have been skirting around each other, someone had to light a fire under Dorian. And there’s nothing like good old-fashioned jealousy for that.”

“No problem, Leliana,” Lily said with a smile. “When you said you needed help with some matchmaking, I couldn’t resist.” She eyed the men one more time. “Do promise you’ll write to let me know how this turns out.”

“Of course.”

Lily smiled again. A dazzling thing, all white sparkle against painted dark lips and golden skin. Reaching up, she unpinned one of the flowers from her hair, and set it down on the railing in front of Leliana. With curiosity, Leliana regarded her.

Still smiling, Lily said. “You’re as beautiful as ever, Leliana. If you wish to return that flower to me, I will most likely be in my room in the guest wing later.”

Secrets glinted in the spymaster’s eye. “An intriguing proposal,” she said softly. “I will most definitely keep it in mind.”

***

Decided, Dorian had excused himself from Leliana and headed towards the Inquisitor and the bard.

Upon reaching them, he tapped lightly on her shoulder. “May I cut in?”

The dancers regarded him. Then Lily stepped back, out of the Inquisitor’s arms. “Enjoy your dance, gentlemen,” she said with a small bow before she retreated.

Dorian stepped forward to take the Inquisitor into his arms.

Gloved hand found gloved hand. Dorian’s other hand slid around to rest firmly on the small of Max’s back. Max’s free hand fell automatically to Dorian’s shoulder.

Max flinched. About to pull away and flee.

Dorian turned his head, murmuring in Max’s ear. “Everyone is watching, Inquisitor. You don’t want to make a scene.” Dorian let his hand wrap more firmly around the Inquisitor’s. “I’ll lead.”

It was true that everyone was watching. And it was also true that Max didn’t want to cause a scene.

Letting Dorian take the lead was... odd. But the mage was such a graceful dancer that it felt less like Max was keeping up with him – rather it was more like Dorian was guiding him effortlessly across the floor.

“You didn’t even ask me if I wanted to dance,” Max grumbled.

“That’s all right,” Dorian said mildly. “You didn’t ask me if I’d be fine with you flirting with someone else right in front of my eyes.”

The Inquisitor frowned. “I can flirt with whomever I want, Dorian.”

“Oh?” Dorian said airily. “And why, exactly, is that?”

“Because...”

“Because?”

The Inquisitor’s frown deepened.

“You know, Inquisitor,” Dorian said. “You never actually said the words. You never actually said you wanted to break off our relationship. So it isn’t official.” Spinning the Inquisitor around, Dorian gracefully reeled him back in. “So, which is it, Inquisitor? Are we still together? Or would you prefer to break up?”

The song came to an end. Max took a step back, out of Dorian’s arms. Stared at the mage. All around, there was the murmur of voices, soft applause. Max smoothed out his expression as he tugged on his jacket’s cuffs. “I think we should go somewhere more private to talk.”

***

Dorian let the Inquisitor lead the way. He seemed to know the layout of the Winter Palace better than Dorian did. They passed through several rooms and many corridors until finally the Inquisitor stopped in what appeared to be a rather quiet, secluded spot.

They were both aware that Dorian’s question about the status of their relationship was still hanging in the air.

“Well, Inquisitor? Surely you must have some thoughts about what you want.”

“I don’t know, Dorian.”

Dorian drew back. Ran his fingers over his mustache. In the weeks since Adamant, it had begun growing in, a thick, dark line over his lips. “If I may point out,” he said cattily, “being in a relationship was all _your_ idea.”

“This isn’t _normal,_ Dorian,” the Inquisitor said. “And it isn’t my fault that you’ve changed. How do you expect me to react?”

Eyes narrowed. “You became involved with me even knowing that I was a man,” Dorian growled. “The only thing that’s changed is that you can no longer _delude_ yourself about my actual sex.”

Max nearly choked on his own breath. “That’s not fair!”

Dorian took an aggressive step forward. Max stepped back, bumping into the wall as he did so. Eyes widened as Dorian slammed his hands against the wall at either side of the Inquisitor’s head. Dorian’s gaze was fierce. “Just say it! Just say that you want to end it, and give me some fucking closure!”

Max stared back at him. Maker, how he’d missed Dorian. When he spoke, his voice was reed-thin. Raw. “Can’t... can’t we just be friends?”

Some of the ferocity drained from Dorian’s eyes. He thought for a moment. Then he shook his head. “No, I’m afraid it’s a bit too late for that. On my side, anyway.”

“So...” Max said quietly. “Where does that leave us?”

Dorian considered that. He wanted more than to be just friends with Max. But he knew that what they’d shared before – that was lost now. They couldn’t be lovers. Which meant that Dorian had to choose: whether he walked away now, or if he would stay and take whatever he could get.

Funny how easy it was to make a bad decision.

Dorian cocked his head as he regarded the Inquisitor. “What you need is a distraction,” he murmured. “I have just the thing.”

Max regarded him curiously, then felt a jolt of alarm as Dorian dropped down to his knees before him and reached for the buckles on Max’s pants.

In haste Max grabbed Dorian’s wrists. “Dorian!”

Dorian looked up at him, gray eyes desperate. “Please. Let me do this for you,” he begged. “Close your eyes if you have to. Pretend. I don’t care.”

Max’s attempts at resistance were feeble at best. Determined, Dorian pushed his hands aside, then opened the Inquisitor’s pants, withdrawing his flaccid member.

“Dorian,” Max whispered. “No...”

Dorian captured Max’s hands again, pinning them to the wall, as he leaned forward. Max made a strangled noise of protest as Dorian’s tongue darted out and began to expertly tease him.

It wasn’t a real protest. They both knew it. As Dorian took him into his mouth, Max gave up all pretense of resistance. Slumping back against the wall, his arms went limp, and his breath hitched in his throat as Dorian licked and sucked him to life.

Maker, it felt as good as Max remembered. Better, even, as Dorian seemed particularly determined to please him, throwing himself into the act, and moaning salaciously around Max’s cock.

Dorian emitted a particularly loud moan as Max’s hands settled on Dorian’s head, fingers threading into Dorian’s long hair.

The sensations were so overwhelming that Max almost didn’t notice when someone came around the corner, saw them, then stopped in the middle of the corridor.

The Iron Bull.

Briefly, the Inquisitor’s eyes met Bull’s. Max was suddenly all too aware of how wanton they looked – Dorian on his knees, head bobbing vigorously over Max’s crotch – and the lusty muffled noises that Dorian was still making as he enthusiastically devoured Max.

Bull looked surprised. Then his expression became knowing. Max was grateful when the Qunari very quietly turned and withdrew from the corridor.

He wasn’t going to last much longer. As his breathing became ragged, Dorian latched onto his hips, jerking him forward and sucking harder.

Max bit back his cries as he shuddered his release.

Dorian swallowed every drop of it.

It took a moment for Max to catch his breath. Maker, it had felt so good, but Max shouldn’t have let Dorian do this.

He glanced down at Dorian, still on his knees. Reaching for him, Max pulled the man back up to his feet. Met Dorian’s eyes. The expression on his face was apprehensive, as if he were waiting for Max to reject him again.

Max reached down to tuck himself away and buckle up his pants. “Dorian,” he said gently. “You don’t... you didn’t have to do that.”

Something in the mage’s expression softened. “But I liked it,” he admitted. “I like giving you pleasure.” Then he smiled. “If you wish, Max, I’d be more than willing to do it again some time. If you’re... of a mood.”

Maker, he’d just let a man blow him. And he’d enjoyed it. _Immensely._

But not just any man. Dorian. _His_ Dorian.

“I... yes, all right. If... that’s what you want.”

The way Dorian lit up, beaming at him, nearly broke his heart. “Believe me, _amatus,_ I only ever do what I want.”

Maker, he didn’t know what he was getting into. If he’d even made the right decision. But he’d just given his word, and wouldn’t try to weasel out of it. He attempted a smile. “That’s the Dorian Pavus I know.”

Dorian continued to smile at him brightly. Then he cleared his throat, taking a small step back. “Well, people are probably wondering where you are, so I suppose we ought to go back to the party.”

***

Nearly a week had passed since their return from the Winter Palace when the Inquisitor ran into Iron Bull in the training yard.

Bull eyed the Inquisitor for a moment. Then swung his big head around to look down at his lieutenant, still nervously gripping his shield. “Krem. That’s enough for today. Unless you want to go hit a dummy for a while.”

Krem relaxed, then shot Bull a wicked grin. “Hit a dummy? That’s what I thought I  _was_ doing, Chief.”

Bull crossed his arms in an attempt to look intimidating, but the amusement sparkled in his eyes. “Get the fuck out of here, Krem, before I decide to make a mural on the tavern wall with you as the paint.”

Krem, still grinning, casually tossed his sword over his shoulder and sauntered off.

Bull then turned to the Inquisitor. With that knowing look again. “So, Boss. You and Dorian.”

Max bristled. But Bull had seen them at the Winter Palace, so it wasn’t as if he could deny it. “Dorian is a man again,” Max said, as diplomatically as possible. “Things have changed.”

Bull’s eyes wandered over the training yard briefly before returning to Max. “To be fair... you always knew that he was a man. It wasn’t as if he made any effort to hide it.” Pausing, Bull cocked his head, considering the Inquisitor. “It was pretty obvious to everyone that you two had real feelings for each other. And Dorian is still the same person.” He paused again, his one good eye narrowing. “Does it really matter if the plumbing is different?”

Max considered that. It wasn’t just... the plumbing, as Bull put it. It was also the dark stubble that appeared on Dorian’s face once the hour had grown late. Hard muscle where there had once been softness. Dorian even smelled different now – still spicy but more musky. Sweat more acrid, when Max caught a whiff of him after a particularly grueling battle. And his long hair was gone – he’d managed to find time to visit a hairdresser in Val Royeaux. Short, but swept up in an ostentatious style which Max imagined was fashionable in Tevinter.

Bull had made no attempts to hide his own preferences – male or female, he didn’t seem to make much distinction. “Easy for you to say.”

Bull chuckled, a deep-chested thing that rumbled. “So, then... you’ve never been... curious?”

Max stiffened. “You mean about what it would be like to be with a man? Of course not!”

At the Inquisitor’s fervent protest, Bull chuckled again. “Boss,” he said patiently. “There’s no shame in having thoughts.”

“I... I never...”

“So your eyes just maybe _accidentally_ fell on Cullen’s ass in the War Room the other day when he was bending _way_ over the table.” Bull grinned. “For sixty seconds.”

Sometimes Max lied. In his role as Inquisitor, he had to, for diplomatic or political reasons. He lied about lyrium. He lied about being the Herald of Andraste. And his companions were so diverse, sometimes he lied to them, as well, to keep feathers from being ruffled. All white lies, basically – lies meant to keep feelings from being unnecessarily hurt – or to keep people from being killed.

But lying about his feelings – that was something he didn’t want to do. And – besides – Bull had already figured out _that_ secret. The jig was up.

And Cullen _did_ have a remarkably fine ass.

_Maker help me._

The Inquisitor lowered his voice. “Just between you and me?”

Horns dipped as Bull nodded once.

“Well...” Max began. Maker, he couldn’t believe that he was actually admitting this out loud to another person. “There was this Templar I once met. Passing through Ostwick. He stayed at the Circle for a few months. Anyway, we were alone in the steams together. He came up behind me. Put his hand on my shoulder. And then he... well, he just gave me this look. A... certain kind of look. And he was... well, he was a beautiful man. Perfect body. And I wondered...” Max trailed off, sloughing off the memory with a shake of his head. “Well, nothing came of it.”

Bull nodded sagely. “So... you once found another man attractive, is what you’re saying.”

For some reason, now that he’d started to confess, he couldn’t stop. “Ah, well... there was this other time I went home. For Wintersend. My family usually throws a party, and that year was no different. There was a man there. A handsome young nobleman. Distant cousin of my sister-in-law. From Orlais. He spent half the night flirting with me. I can’t say that I disliked his attentions. Though, of course I said no when he suggested we go somewhere more private to ‘talk.’”

“So...” Bull rumbled with a certain glint in his eye. “You found _two_ men attractive.”

“Well, another time...” Max began. Then he coughed awkwardly into his fist. “I think you’re enjoying this too much.”

“Picturing the pretty Inquisitor with other pretty men?” Bull said with a wicked grin. “Yeah, that’s hot. Wish you’d given more description of them, though. Just so I can picture it more clearly.”

Max tried to swallow his grimace. “At any rate... yes. I’ve had... thoughts.”

Bull’s smile faded. His expression grave now. “Look, Boss,” he said in a soft voice. “It sounds to me like you’re curious. And that you might actually swing both ways. And that the real problem is that growing up with the Templars, you’ve internalized a lot of their bullshit about what being a ‘man’ means, which includes places where you’re not allowed to stick your sword.”

Max cocked an eyebrow. “Bullshit, is it?”

“Yeah. It’s your damn sword – you can stick it wherever you like. As long as it’s consensual.” Bull grinned again. “And don’t tell me you didn’t like sticking it Dorian’s mouth, ‘cause, by the look on your face, you liked that a _lot.”_

Max felt the heat rising to his face. “Maker’s breath, Bull!”

Bull chuckled.

Max sighed. “I get your point,” he finally said. “It’s just... well, Templars don’t  _have_ these kinds of thoughts, much less  _act_ on them.”

“I’m calling bullshit again, Boss,” the Qunari replied. “And I’m gonna point out the obvious. You  _left_ the Order. So you ain’t really a Templar anymore. So whatever  _they_ think doesn’t matter.” 

“True,” Max agreed, albeit reluctantly. Then he sighed again. “Thanks, Bull. I’ll think about what you said.”

“You do that,” Bull said. Then, as the Inquisitor started to walk away, Bull called after him. “Oh, and, Boss? If you hurt Dorian again, there will be a race between me, Sera and Krem to see which one of us gets to be the one to crush you brutally into the ground.”

The Inquisitor paused, digesting that. “If I do that... then I’ll probably deserve it.”

 


	17. Nemo Saltat Sobrius

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian, expectant, waited. Now was the moment. Now or never.

They fled from Corypheus, through the Eluvian.

Any time the Inquisitor and his companions had to flee – a situation that occurred with far more frequency than he wanted to admit – the Inquisitor was always the last one through. He’d waited until all the villagers had come through at the door at the Chantry at Haven. Held off a high dragon in the Western Approach until his companions had escaped. As far as Max was concerned, his job was to protect the Inquisition and everyone who served in it, down to the lowliest soldier and servant. Even if that meant sacrificing himself to do it.

Except this time, as they reached the Eluvian, hands pressed upon him. The hands of all his companions, shoving their beloved Inquisitor through first. To safety.

Max stumbled out. Turned. Morrigan came next. Solas. Varric. And finally – Dorian.

For a few seconds, waiting for Dorian, Max’s heart had stopped. Only when Dorian skidded to a stop in the dim, dusty room and met Max’s eyes, did his heart start beating again.

Then something dark crossed over Dorian’s features. “Sera. Bull. The others – they’re still back there. In the Arbor Wilds.”

Varric reached up and patted the mage on the arm. “Don’t worry, Sparkler. The entire _army_ is back there. I’m sure they’ll be fine. Just think about them camping in the mud while you’re enjoying your nice, warm bubble bath later.”

Dorian brightened. “Now that you mention it, a bubble bath _does_ sound delightful.”

Varric chuckled softly.

Later, in his quarters, changing out of his armor, Max thought about that awful sensation he’d felt at the mere thought of losing Dorian. If Corypheus had seized hold of Dorian before he’d made it safely through the mirror...

Since the Winter Palace, things had gradually improved between them. Within a week or so, they were conversing with each other as easily as they had before. Dorian eventually began to flirt lightly with Max again, and Max eventually became accustomed to the new Dorian’s teasing. And, on occasion, Dorian would get down on his knees to pleasure him.

Fretting, Max went that afternoon to seek Dorian out in the library.

Sitting in his favorite armchair, engrossed in a heavy tome, Dorian didn’t notice the Inquisitor right away. Stopping several feet away, Max leaned against the bookshelf and watched him.

Dorian was... beautiful. Strong. Full of passionate fire, intelligence and idealism. Witty, charming, elegant. Fierce and flashy and stubborn. Yet, under his cynical exterior, he was a deeply sensitive man with a fragile heart.

Max didn’t want to hurt him. He wanted Dorian to be happy.

Dorian glanced up. Smiling, he set aside his book and stood. “Strange business, that, at the Temple of Mythal. And the things Abelas said about how it wasn’t the Imperium that destroyed the elves. It’s got me thinking.”

Max normally wouldn’t have minded an in-depth discussion about the ancient elves they’d met – and it was obvious that Dorian had been quite fascinated by them. But the things he wanted to say to Dorian – he had to say them _now,_ before he lost his resolve.

“Dorian. We need to talk.”

At Max’s serious tone, Dorian’s expression became wary. Guarded. “Talk? About what?”

“About us.”

Little claws scrabbled inside Dorian’s heart. “What about us?”

“Dorian... we can’t go on like this.”

They weren’t claws in his heart now. They were knives. Feigning indifference, Dorian scratched at a bit of something stuck to one of the spines of a book on the shelf next to him. “And, why not? You’re getting something out if it.”

Max sighed. “It feels like I’m using you.”

Dorian’s smile was forced. Empty. “You’re under so much pressure. Don’t you deserve a release every now and then? So, please, Max. Feel free to use me. I assure you that I’m accustomed to being used.”

“I don’t want to use you anymore,” Max said softly. “I just... I can’t.”

Those knives were bombs, obliterating his internal landscape. He was Haven, crushed by a archdemon. And yet he was still pretending that everything was fine. “Tired of me already, then?”

Pain seeped into the Inquisitor’s expression. “No,” he replied quickly. “That’s not it.”

“Oh? Then what is it?”

Max drew a deep breath. Braced himself. He had given rousing speeches to crowds. Talked desperate mages down from becoming abominations. Led his own troops, fifty men strong. Battled demons, darkspawn and dragons. Yet saying these words was one of the most difficult things he’d ever done. “Quite simply? I don’t want to use you anymore because I’m in love with you.”

Dorian’s hand squeezed the bookshelf. Suddenly it felt as if there wasn’t enough air in the room. His heart was a mad pendulum, wildly swinging. He swallowed hard, then choked back a laugh. “Funny, for a moment there I thought that you said you were in love with me.”

“I am, Dorian. I love you.”

Somehow saying it a second time was easier.

He understood what they meant by the phrase “rooted to the spot.” For a moment, Dorian literally couldn’t move. Like his limbs had been turned to stone.

Maxwell Trevelyan, the leader of the Inquisition, _loved_ him.

Except – and this was a huge warning alarm wailing in Dorian’s head – the man wasn’t queer. He liked women.

Dorian drew a deep breath. “So... you love me,” he said. “But... you don’t want me.”

Since his talk with Bull, Max had been hounded by certain thoughts. Wondering and imagining what it would be like. How Dorian’s hard body would feel against his. How Dorian’s mustache – just starting to curl at the ends now – would feel against his skin. What it would feel like to pin him down to the bed and take him. If Dorian would _want_ to be taken.

“Maker, I wish that were true.”

Dorian froze again. Then sputtered. “Wh- what?”

Max turned. Stood at the window for a moment, staring blankly at the mountains. Hand still against the window frame, Max looked at Dorian from over his shoulder. “Look, Dorian... I... I’ve never felt this way about anyone – much less a man – before. This is all new to me.” His eyes flitted away. Drawing in a breath, he glanced back at Dorian, standing very still and breathless by the bookshelf. “To be honest, the whole thing scares me shitless. Like I’m somehow...”

Dorian waited, then filled in the missing words. “Less of a man?”

Despite the shame he felt at admitting that, Max nodded slowly. Then let his head hang, unable to meet Dorian’s eyes. “You must not think very much of me.”

He heard Dorian make a strange little noise of exasperation. “On the contrary, I think you may be the most fucking amazing man I’ve ever met.”

Max’s gaze snapped up to meet Dorian’s – all gray wool, soft and warm. _Happy._

Turning from the window, Max stepped forward. Swallowed his trepidation. Lifted a hand, letting it rest gently against Dorian’s face, fingers against his jaw, thumb at the corner of his lips. Heard Dorian’s breath hitch as Max leaned in to kiss him.

Dorian’s fingers ached to touch, needfully flexing, but he kept his arms at his sides as the Inquisitor’s mouth moved tentatively over his. They’d shared more passionate kisses than this, but he was breathless again as Max slowly drew back, blue eyes serious as a Blight, searching his.

The Inquisitor’s gaze continued to delve into his – seeking, finding, assessing. The moment dragged itself out so long that Dorian nearly screamed, _Maker, say something!_

Then he felt the Inquisitor’s fingers slide down his jaw in a gentle caress. “Dorian?” he said in a low voice. “Come to my quarters tonight.”

Dorian’s heart nearly lurched right out of his chest. “Are you... are you sure you want that?”

“I want to try.”

Sickening heart lurch again. Not that Dorian would have gotten his hopes up anyway at an invitation to visit the Inquisitor in his quarters, he was glad that the man was honest. Still, willingness to  _try_ was better than nothing. 

Dorian gave the Inquisitor his warmest smile. “I’ll be there with bells on.”

***

Maxwell Trevelyan adjusted his shirt collar before the mirror for the tenth time that evening.

They hadn’t specified a time to meet. So Max had readied himself some time ago. Once he’d washed up, he’d chosen his clothing with care – dark pants that fit him well, and a shirt and light jacket that Dorian had once mentioned as not displeasing. And he’d left his hair, perfumed with some clove-scented oil that Dorian had gifted him, down.

Max fretted at his reflection. To say he was nervous about his upcoming appointment would be an understatement. He didn’t know what would happen. He only knew how things needed to go down tonight. It wasn’t fair for Dorian to continue forgoing his own pleasure for Max’s sake. _I can’t take advantage of him anymore. I won’t._

He was sitting at his desk, attempting to focus on his advisers’ reports, when Dorian prowled into his quarters.

With a smile, he lifted the hand which held a bottle of wine. “Thought this might help. As they say in Tevinter, _nemo saltat sobrius.”_

Max was grateful to have something to busy his hands. As he opened the bottle, Dorian sat down on the edge of Max’s bed. “You know, you never did tell me what that means.”

“Ah. It means that nobody dances sober. From a longer saying – unless he’s a madman.”

Max raised an eyebrow. “Is that what we’re doing? Dancing?”

Dorian smiled and said nothing.

Max corked the bottle and picked up both glasses, bringing them over to the bed.

“You didn’t drink from the Well,” Dorian noted. “I’m rather glad you didn’t, by the way.”

“I have enough problems as it is,” Max said as he handed Dorian a glass before sitting down next to him. “Hearing all the voices of Mythal’s servants – I feel like I dodged a blow from a knife.”

“A wise decision,” Dorian said sagely. “Though I do wonder how Morrigan is feeling about it now.”

For a while, they sat on the bed, not touching. Drinking the wine as they talked about the events in the Arbor Wilds. At some point, Max refilled their glasses.

Later, by the time Max felt warm and relaxed from the wine, Dorian reached out. Plucked the wine glass from Max’s hand, then set both glasses down on the floor. Max felt a trickle of apprehension as Dorian leaned so close to him that he could feel Dorian’s breath against his lips.

“Whatever happens, Inquisitor,” Dorian murmured, “will be entirely at your discretion.”

How the tables had turned.

Dorian, expectant, waited. Now was the moment. Now or never.

Max leaned in to kiss him.

It began almost chaste. Lips, dry, brushing lightly together. Dorian, shifting, tilting his head for a better angle. Soft intake of breath as Max’s hand settled on Dorian’s knee.

Kissing Dorian was... different. Hardness instead of softness. The unfamiliar territory of facial hair – hint of stubble as well as the touch of his heavy mustache. Below the traces of Dorian’s familiar soaps and cologne, the aggressive edge of male sweat and muskiness. But – Maker help him – it wasn’t terrible.

In fact, it was rather... _stimulating._

He deepened the kiss.

Dorian felt Max’s tongue, tentative, against his teeth. He opened his mouth, allowing the Inquisitor in. Tongue against tongue – swirling, then dancing, then Max was devouring Dorian’s mouth like he was hungry and Dorian was something tasty.

Finally, they parted.

Dorian’s gray eyes were hazy with desire, as his voice became a sultry taunt. “Now what, Inquisitor?”

Max asked himself how far he was willing to go. _Touching – touching would be okay._ “Dorian, take off your clothes.” Max half-smiled. “And please stop calling me ‘Inquisitor.’”

“Just teasing, Max,” Dorian drawled, then his weight left the bed. Standing before Max, he began to undress – slowly, dusky, smiling. Once naked, he did a little half-turn which demanded admiration. The movement caused his prick, already rigid, to bounce up towards the hard, flat planes of his belly.

Max’s eyes quickly flicked up.

Dorian put his hands on his hips. “You are permitted to look at it, _amatus,”_ he said teasingly.

A blush crept over Max’s cheeks. “Dorian, I’ve lived with the Templar Order almost my whole life – I’ve seen naked men before.”

Smiling, Dorian ran his fingers up along his erection. “Not like this, I imagine.”

“No, not like... that.” Max felt the anticipation, warm, way down deep inside him as he watched Dorian leisurely stroking himself. Anticipation of something new. Of something sexual. Smiling, he beckoned at the mage with a finger. “Come here, Dorian.”

Eyes alight, Dorian stepped closer. Hands on Max’s shoulders, he leaned down.

They began kissing again. Kissing Max was always wonderful, but he wanted so much more. Trying not to expect more, even as he bent over the Inquisitor, naked and already steel-hard. Then his patience was rewarded when the Inquisitor’s hand reached out and found his cock.

Casually caressing Dorian, Max considered how it felt. Surprisingly, it didn’t feel that strange to be touching another man like this. Really not that much different than touching his own. And there was something arousing about how Dorian’s breath quickened a few moments before he started moaning into Max’s mouth. The only problem was that the angle of their bodies was awkward.

Max drew back. Noted Dorian’s eager expression as Max guided him down so that he was lying on his back on the bed. Swinging a leg over, Max straddled his hips, taking him in hand again and continuing to stroke.

Eyes heavy-lidded, Dorian peered up at him, biting down on his lip to keep from crying out. He couldn’t quite decide what he preferred to stare at – the Inquisitor’s beautiful face, or the Inquisitor’s hand pleasuring him. For a while, Dorian lay still, savoring the sight of the Inquisitor on top of him, and the delicious feel of his touch.

“You’re wearing too many clothes,” Dorian murmured as he reached for the laces on Max’s pants.

Max made a small, non-committal noise. Then made another noise – this time of pleasure, as Dorian reached in to wrap Max in his fist.

_Mostly hard,_ Dorian noted with some relief. Soft would have concerned him that Max didn’t like what they were doing. It was rather reassuring that Dorian was having this effect on him.

In a moment, he had the Inquisitor fully erect.

What happened next – it wasn’t romantic. Or particularly passionate. If anything, it was a no-nonsense, all business type of hand job. Following Max’s lead, Dorian matched his pace, until casual stroking became more serious stroking, which turned into the Inquisitor rocking into Dorian’s fist, as Dorian bucked up slightly into his.

Eventually, Max’s expression softened, becoming hazy, and Dorian recognized that the man was about to come. “Maker,” Dorian breathed. “You’re so fucking beautiful.”

“Dorian...”

The way Max murmured his name almost unmade him. He was on the brink. Barely aware that he was speaking, gasping words in Tevene.  _“Te cupio... irruma me... pedica me... amatus..._ uh, fucking Maker!”

With a cry, Dorian came, still arching his back as Max’s seed mingled with his.

They remained still for a moment, catching their breath.

The ensuing silence was lethal.

Dorian glanced down at the sticky mess across his lower belly. With a light tone, he quipped, “And everyone comes on Dorian!”

To Dorian’s relief, the Inquisitor laughed.

“I don’t suppose you have a towel I may use?”

“Of course,” Max said. Climbing off Dorian, he tucked himself away before fetching a towel. Sitting back down on the bed, he passed it to Dorian. Dorian magicked the towel so it was warm and wet, cleaning himself off. Tossing the towel aside as if he expected a servant to come by and pick it up later, he lay back down again.

Max studied him. Dorian was lying on his bed, sprawled out naked, unashamed, completely comfortable in his skin. Unlike when he’d had a female body, which he’d always been trying to cover up. When Dorian caught him staring, Max said, “You really have a nice body.”

Dorian smiled teasingly. “For a mage, you mean.” Then his smile slipped a bit. “Should I get dressed?”

Max had heard it – that guarded fear in Dorian’s tone, as if he were waiting for Max to regret what they’d done. To reject him again. “You should stay the night here.”

Clearly, Dorian’s fear had been quite strong, because he was unable to keep the surprise from his face. “Oh?”

“Did you really think I’d just kick you out after?”

_Yes._ “No, but it is kind of cold in here.”

“Then we’ll get under the covers.”

Dorian slithered up the bed and slid under the blankets. Watched as the Inquisitor removed his own clothes before slipping in next to Dorian.

For a moment, Dorian believed that they would stay like this, each man on his own side of the bed. But then Max slid closer, and gathered Dorian into his arms.

The relief he felt was no small thing.  _Maker – thank you._

He felt even more at peace as Max’s hand began to move – absentmindedly tracing over Dorian’s arm. With a happy sigh, Dorian shifted, slipping his arm across Max’s chest, snuggling against him. 

The Inquisitor’s hand moved up, gently stroking Dorian’s hair. “Dorian? You spoke in Tevene... what were you saying?”

“Oh. Ah... just all the filthy things I want you to do to me,” Dorian reluctantly admitted. “Did you... like it?”

“Yes, but... perhaps next time you should say them in common, so I’ll know what you want.”

 _So, there’s going to be a next time, then?_  “Ah.”Dorian chuckled. “As you wish, Inquisitor.”

 


	18. Happiness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You're happier now, Dorian."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things get even more steamy between Dorian and the Inquisitor.

The Inquisitor stared up at the altar of Mythal.

“Your companions will need to go elsewhere,” Morrigan said. When Max turned to her with a questioning stare, she added, “Not to worry, if there is shouting, they will hear it readily enough.”

Max hesitated, still staring at Morrigan. Then he turned to the others, who stood a few feet back, and gave them a nod.

Cassandra, Cole and Dorian withdrew to wait outside, beyond the clearing, where they couldn’t see what was happening, but still within earshot.

After a few moments of listening in silence and hearing nothing, Cassandra made a disgruntled sound. “I don’t trust that witch.”

“Nor should you,” Dorian agreed readily. “Though you should respect her power.”

“I can’t really argue with that,” Cassandra murmured, obviously wishing she could.

Dorian tilted his head. “Is there a problem, Cassandra?”

Cassandra scrutinized him for a long moment. “Your relationship with the Inquisitor – for how long do you intend to pursue this?”

“For how long –?” Dorian repeated, then stopped himself. The question had taken him aback. He hadn’t really thought about the future – what he would do after their business with Corypheus was complete. Assuming they lived, of course. “For as long as we both wish to pursue it, I imagine.”

Cassandra gave him a long, level look before turning away with a soft snort.

Now Dorian _was_ thinking about the future. He tried to picture himself in the Inquisition once the fighting was done. What would his role be – Inquisitor’s boyfriend? Not that this fate sounded terrible, but... Maker, Trevelyan was inspiring. He made Dorian wonder what changes he could instigate if he went back to Tevinter.

Not that he wanted to leave Max. No, not now. Not while things were getting good. Their friendship was stronger than ever. As for sex – well, they hadn’t progressed much past getting each other off with hands or – occasionally – Dorian’s mouth, but it wasn’t as though Dorian _needed_ anything beyond that. There was an intimacy between them, unlike anything Dorian had ever known before. There were long looks. Playful kissing. Cuddling. Sweet caresses. So sex wasn’t everything. In fact, their last night at Skyhold, Dorian had fallen asleep in bed next to the Inquisitor, who’d promised him some fun once he’d finished reading that day’s stack of reports. Waking up later, he’d found the candle gutted out and himself in the sleeping Inquisitor’s arms. As Dorian drifted back off to sleep, he realized that he didn’t even care that they hadn’t had their fun.

Cole tilted up his chin. “You’re happier now, Dorian.”

Dorian regarded the Spirit boy with a little fondness. “Is that what that light, tingly feeling is? I suppose you’re right.”

“Wishing but wondering, wounded and wistful. What if he doesn’t want me after?”

Dorian brightened. “But he did.”

“Now you’re smiling!” Cole tried to return it with one of his own – awkward, but heartfelt. “It’s good!”

A moment later, the Inquisitor and the witch walked out of the clearing. Morrigan looked like she had just been force fed poison.

“Well, that was... strange,” said the Inquisitor. At his companions’ confused expressions, he waved a hand and said simply, “I’ll tell you later. Let’s go.”

***

Back at Skyhold, Max went looking for Cullen. One of the young guards near Cullen’s office politely informed him that Cullen had gone to meet Seeker Penteghast in the tavern.

He found them on the second floor. And he heard them before he saw them.

“– heard the rumors,” Cassandra was saying, her tone almost accusatory.

This was followed by Cullen’s voice, calm and pragmatic. “There were rumors even when they weren’t together. There are always rumors. If you don’t believe me, ask Josephine. She can give a very detailed and lengthy list of lovers the Inquisitor has supposedly had. Which, incidentally, includes _you.”_

Cassandra made a noise of exasperation. “Yes, but denying them now will be difficult. Have you seen the way the two of them look at each other in public? It’s quite obvious that –”

As Max stepped on a creaky floorboard, Cassandra turned and startled.

“Oh! I... did not see you there, Inquisitor.”

Max crossed his arms. “If you have something you wish to say about my relationship with Dorian, Cass, then, by all means, do go on.”

Cassandra shifted uncomfortably. Eyes shifting across the floor. “Inquisitor, I...” Drawing a breath, she lifted her head, gaze steady. “You must realize how it may... look... your being involved with a mage from Tevinter.”

Max paused. “This isn’t the first I’m hearing about it from you, Cass,” he said. “But it’s been a while, so... why bring it up now?”

“Now... in case you haven’t noticed, Inquisitor, Dorian is a man.”

The Inquisitor practically snapped at her. “He was a man _before.”_

Cassandra frowned. “Yes, but... now...” She made another noise of exasperation. “You know what I mean, Inquisitor.”

“I didn’t realize, Seeker,” Max said coldly, “that you were so interested in the sex of the person who warms my bed.”

“That’s not...” Cassandra threw up her hands. Then turned. “Cullen? What do you honestly think about the Inquisitor’s relationship with Dorian?”

Cullen was quiet for a moment. Then gave a slight tilt of his head. “I think,” he said in that same calm, pragmatic tone, “that the Inquisitor is allowed some... comfort... wherever he can find it.” He paused, his gaze challenging. “Don’t you?”

Max was so grateful in that moment that he could have kissed Cullen. Perhaps even literally.

“Ah, yes,” Cassandra said, suddenly abashed. “I see. It was... not my place to... interfere. If he makes you happy, Inquisitor, then I am glad for you. Forget I said anything.”

Max and Cullen watched as Cassandra skulked away.

Max sighed. “Thank you, Cullen.”

Cullen gave him a strange little look that was hard to decipher. “If it’s worth anything, she did mean well. This isn’t Orlais. Many people will share her attitudes.”

Max felt his stomach clench. “Including you, Cullen?”

Cullen regarded him for another moment. “I told you, Max, I will not judge you.” Then he smiled. “That doesn’t mean, however, that I would be willing to agree to Dorian’s suggestion that I join the two of you in your quarters some evening.”

A strangled noise involuntarily escaped Max’s throat. “Dorian, he... really suggested that?”

Cullen continued to smile. “Only about three times during our last chess match. He said he thought that you and I would look ‘smoldering’ together.”

 _Maker save me._ “I, ah, will have a little talk with Dorian about what would be, ah, an _acceptable_ amount of flirting with other people.”

Cullen dipped his head. “Thank you, Inquisitor.”

***

Something had gotten into the Inquisitor tonight.

Dorian wasn’t sure what it was. But – whatever it was – it meant that Dorian was at the center of the Inquisitor’s attentions. And he was rather enjoying the careful way that Max was slowly stripping both of them out of their clothes as they lay on the bed, softly kissing all of Dorian’s skin as he exposed it. Lavishing Dorian with attention. He loved it.

Arousing, too, the way that Max nipped and gently sucked a trail down Dorian’s neck, and then down Dorian’s chest, teasing first one nipple, then the other, with tongue and teeth.

By the time the Inquisitor drew back, Dorian was completely hard. And rather pleased to note that he wasn’t the only one.

Smiling, Dorian ran a hand through Max’s hair, pushing it back from his gorgeous face. _“Amatus_. Now what?”

“Sit on the edge of the bed, Dorian,” Max suggested.

“Bossy,” Dorian teased, but was already moving to comply. He supposed the Inquisitor would jack him off now. An opinion he revised when the Inquisitor slipped off the bed and moved to stand before him. He assumed that the Inquisitor wanted his mouth then. Another opinion he had to revise when the Inquisitor sank down to his knees between Dorian’s legs, his hands resting lightly on Dorian’s thighs.

As understanding struck, anticipation sizzled Dorian’s nerves. _Oh... he wants to... oh._

As the Inquisitor’s gaze swept up and down Dorian’s erection, Dorian realized that this moment was monumental. “Ah, Max?” he murmured quietly. “You’ve never done this before, have you?”

Max’s hands slid gently up Dorian’s thighs, causing the mage to shiver. “No, I can’t say that I have.”

“If it makes you uncomfortable, then... well, you know you don’t have to.”

Max’s gaze flicked up to meet Dorian’s. Gray eyes soft, reassuring. Then he let his gaze fall back down to Dorian’s lap.

There was a hierarchy of sin in the Templars’ homophobia. The worst, naturally, was allowing another man to fuck you. Second to that was sucking another man’s cock. Something that Dorian did, not only without any shame, but with great pleasure. And yet, Max didn’t think any less of him as a man.

So, why was he still holding himself to those bullshit standards?

He loved Dorian. He didn’t want to deny his lover this particular pleasure. Especially when Dorian was so willing to grant it to him.

He studied Dorian’s cock. It was slightly darker than the rest of him, and, when erect, stood up straight, though it curved slightly towards his body. Max wasn’t an expert on any members other than his own, but Dorian’s seemed rather well-formed to him. Somehow elegant, and neither too short nor too thin.

He glanced back up to Dorian’s face. “I don’t promise any... expertise.”

Dorian smiled down at him encouragingly. “I’m sure you’ll do fine.”

Max leaned forward. Felt Dorian jump as Max gave him an experimental lick.

It was true he’d never done this before. But he’d been on the receiving end many times, so he knew what felt good to him. Letting past experience be his guide, he began with a series of fluttering licks all the way down and back up Dorian’s shaft before he let his tongue swirl lazily around the tip.

Dorian gasped. Maker, Max had such a talented tongue. When Max drew back, Dorian eyed him curiously. _“Amatus –_ what do you want me to do?”

A snort of laughter. “Lie back and think of the Inquisition.”

Dorian laughed. Then stopped laughing as Max leaned over him again, taking him halfway into his mouth.

 _Maker, bless this man,_ Dorian thought as Max’s tongue continued to play over him. Weaving his fingers into Max’s hair, he had to fight a wickedly strong desire to thrust himself deeper into Max’s mouth. Fucking the Inquisitor’s face – well, that would be rude the first time. As Max twirled his tongue over the sensitive area where the head met the shaft, Dorian moaned softly. “Maker, Max... are you _trying_ to drive me mad?”

Max made a hum of agreement, the vibration shooting through Dorian’s body, causing him to gasp with pleasure again.

Then Max was swallowing him down, taking Dorian as deeply as he could into the heat of his mouth. Moving up. Moving down. Tongue and lips and light suction.

 _So fucking good._ Maker, how Dorian had missed having a cock to stick in another man’s mouth. Not that he hadn’t felt pleasure with his female body, but this – this felt _right._ “You know, for someone who’s never done this before,” Dorian murmured, “you’re wonderfully good at it.”

The Inquisitor responded by sucking harder, stealing Dorian’s breath.

Then Dorian was panting as Max’s head bobbed in his lap, a rhythm established, faster now, no longer teasing, all business, with the express intent of bringing Dorian to his peak. And then Dorian was gasping out words again, this time in common instead of Tevene.

“Maker, _yes._.. I want you... your big cock inside me... fuck, I want you to fuck me... I... Maker, I’m about to come... Max, I... uh!”

He felt Max’s hand between his legs, pressing up on the sensitive area just under his balls, as Max increased his rhythm, his other hand locked onto Dorian’s hip.

Dorian’s body stiffened. “Oh _kaffas!”_

Involuntarily, he bucked.

Max made a little choked noise in his throat as Dorian slammed too far into his mouth, but managed to swallow Dorian’s seed as it flooded down into his throat.

Once it was over, Max pulled back, coughing a bit into his hand.

Dorian’s eyes fluttered open. “Oh, Max, I’m sorry.”

But Max just smiled at him. “Sorry that you liked it?” Max teased. “At least you didn’t set the bed on fire again.”

Dorian laughed softly. “Foolish man,” he murmured, then reached for Max, drawing him up so that they were lying next to each other on the bed again. For a while, Dorian basked, feeling deliciously lazy and decadent as he lay in Max’s arms while Max nuzzled his neck.

Eventually Max drew back, looking at Dorian. Hungry. Needy. Wanting.

Dorian smiled coyly. “Shall I return the favor now?”

Max regarded him quietly for a moment. Then: “Did you mean what you said?”

“What I said...?”

“That you... wanted me inside you.”

A little thrill rippled through Dorian’s body. Suddenly he was acutely aware of Max’s erection, currently pressing against Dorian’s thigh. “I... yes. I’d like that.”

Their bodies came together. Limbs entwined, hands exploring, as the Inquisitor kissed him – hot, sweet, deep kisses that made Dorian’s breath catch again in his throat.

Then Dorian let the Inquisitor fuck him.

It wasn’t magical.

There was a lot of talking. Max had never done this either, and so Dorian had to guide him. First, there was the matter of finding something suitable that would serve to facilitate the actual act – which meant that ardor cooled until Max turned up some oil. The same oil he used on his sword, smelling faintly of lemons, which Dorian decided would have to suffice. Second, there was some awkwardness as Max fumbled in his attempts to prepare Dorian, despite Dorian’s rather explicit instructions. Finally, as Dorian hadn’t quite been adequately prepared, there had been some discomfort as Max slowly worked his way in.

Once Max was seated deeply within him, Dorian murmured an order. “Wait.”

Maker, he felt so full. Breathing steadily, he willed himself to relax. Then relaxed even more as Max’s hand lightly caressed his back. “Dorian? Are you okay?”

“I think you should move now,” Dorian said. “Just go slowly, please. It’s been a long time.”

The Inquisitor began to move.

 _Yes. Better._ Despite the awkward start, Dorian was beginning to enjoy the feel of Max moving inside him. _This –_ he hadn’t realized exactly how much he’d missed it.

Dorian loved it. He’d always loved taking it. And he loved how Max’s big cock filled him. Soon Dorian was gasping as he thrust back against Max, adjusting his hips to seek his own pleasure.

Then found it. A loud moan escaped him as Max hit that sweet spot, and he was instantly hard again.

Suddenly, it _was_ magical.

“There! Max. _Harder._ Fuck me harder!”

Max didn’t need to be asked twice. Adjusting his grip on Dorian’s hips, he thrust deeper and harder, rewarded by Dorian’s very loud and very guttural cry each time Max plunged into him.

Dorian had never been particularly quiet during sex – even when he’d had a woman’s body – but this was a whole new level of unrestraint. And the fact that Max was responsible for turning the usually perfectly-coiffed and well-composed mage into a quivering, moaning wreck was quite possibly the highlight in Max’s sexual history.

Dorian shifted so that he was no longer holding himself up on his hands. Elbows pressed down, he wrapped his arms around one of the pillows, biting and moaning into it as Max fucked him deliciously into the mattress.

“Max... oh gods, you’re so hard... your cock feels so good inside me... Max, don’t stop... pound me like I’m trash... fucking _wreck_ me...”

The filthy things Dorian said – well, Max found them terribly sexy. Max’s fingers dug into Dorian’s hips, jerking the mage back towards him as he slammed forward.

“Fuck yes! Fuck me... fill me... Max, Maker, fuck!”

Maker, Max wasn’t going to last much longer. Everything about this was just so overwhelmingly erotic. Dorian’s voice... the heat of him... the wanton abandon with which he took it, wanting it rough, begging for more... More than anything, he wanted to make Dorian come again. To feel the mage’s body clench around him.

Reaching a hand down, Max captured Dorian in his fist.

“Yes... yes! Oh gods... Max... uh!”

Dorian made one last garbled cry. As his seed spilled over Max’s fingers, Max felt Dorian spasm mercilessly around him.

 _Oh Maker_... Max lost it. Control gone. Buried deep inside Dorian’s ass, he came so hard that he saw a white light and, for an eternity, felt like he was dying. An earth-shattering explosion, suffusing every ounce of his body with ecstasy, leaving him floating in an airless, timeless void.

As the pleasure eventually subsided, Max found himself collapsed in a heap on top of the mage. It couldn’t have been comfortable. Moving carefully, he slowly lifted himself up. Dorian made a breathless little sound as Max extricated himself.

Legs shaky, Max let himself drop down to the bed. Reached for Dorian and pulled him up against his side. Listened to Dorian’s breathing as it gradually became steady. And snorted softly when he thought about Bull’s comment how Max might actually _swing both ways._

Dorian leaned up on one elbow, his expression – well, Max had never seen Dorian look so _sated_ before. “Something amusing, _amatus?”_

Smiling, Max reached up a hand and let it wander through Dorian’s hair. “Nothing, really. Just remind me to thank the Iron Bull later.”

At that, confusion clouded Dorian’s features. But then he just smiled coyly. “Send him a fruit basket,” he suggested with a soft laugh. “Everyone loves those.”

 


	19. The Temple of Sacred Ashes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Victorious, I see. What a novel result.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Final chapter! Thanks to everyone who read along, gave kudos, and left comments! It is appreciated.
> 
> Feel free to come hang out with me over at Tumblr. You can find me there as elvesfromiceland.
> 
> May Andraste smile kindly upon you.

_It seems that Corypheus is not content to wait._

Morrigan’s words echoed in Max’s ears as he hurried up the stairs to his quarters, taking two at a time, until he reached the landing.

Dorian, who had been seated before Max’s mirror, shaving, turned in his chair, watching with growing apprehension as Max purposefully crossed the room. “Max?”

Max’s eyes snapped to his. “Corypheus is at the Temple of Sacred Ashes. I must go there to close the Breach once more and end this madness.”

“The Breach...?” Dorian’s breath caught. “But Cullen’s forces still haven’t returned from the Arbor Wilds.”

“This can’t wait.” At his desk, Max jerked open a drawer, then glanced at Dorian again. “If you’re coming, you should prepare for battle.”

Dorian stared for a moment as Max withdrew a small wooden box from the drawer. This he set carefully upon the desk. Traced its contours almost lovingly with his fingertips.

Then Dorian wiped the residue of the shaving lotion from his face, tossing the towel aside as he stood up and walked to Max’s side. “Of course I’m coming with you,” he said lightly. “Why, a red lyrium dragon couldn’t keep me away.”

Max smiled briefly at Dorian. Then turning his attention back to the desk, he opened the box.

Dorian stared at its contents. Recognized the blue liquid in one of the vials easily.

Dorian’s voice was a whisper. “Max... must you?”

Max lightly ran his fingers along the vial’s surface. Longingly. Then he glanced at Dorian, his expression hard. “Corypheus. His magic... it isn’t negligible. We’ll need every advantage.”

The fact that the Elder One was a thousand year-old darkspawn magister... well, Max did have a point. Dorian fretted for a moment. Then met Max’s eyes. “This will be the last time, then? The last time you use lyrium?”

Max paused to consider that. Chances were still good they could all die, rendering the question moot. And if they lived, then... Max had no real excuse to take it again. “I... yes, Dorian. The last time. I promise.”

Dorian watched, expression pinched, as the Inquisitor picked up the vial and stowed it away safely under his armor. Then he met Dorian’s gaze again.

“I will keep you to your promise, Max.”

Max lifted a hand to Dorian’s face. Smiled as he found a patch of stubble that Dorian had missed while shaving. Decided it was better not to mention it, and leaned down to press one soft, full kiss to Dorian’s lips.

Max drew back. Closed the box, but did not replace it in the drawer. “Get ready, Dorian. We’re leaving immediately. The others are already gathering in the courtyard below.”

***

The battle was grueling. As if Corypheus and his summoned demons weren’t enough to deal with, they’d had to face down his dragon. Maker only knew what had happened to Morrigan. In the thick of things, they could only pray. And hope.

And Maxwell Trevelyan – _that fool!_ – had boldly rushed straight at _the fucking dragon_.

Dorian’s heart stopped. _Here. Here is where I really do lose him for good._

Except he didn’t. Sword flashing, Max expertly dodged the dragon’s teeth, then sprang to his feet, and plunged his blade into the dragon’s throat.

The ground shook as the dragon fell.

Dorian felt a rush of relief.

But it wasn’t over yet.

On they raced. To finish their foe. He wanted to ask  _why_ they were running. After all, Corypheus was just going to wait for them at the top of the temple, wasn’t he? But Dorian lacked the breath.

Swords sang. Magic crashed. Arrows flew. But in the end the glory was all Trevelyan’s. Not his sword this time, but the mark on his hand. Just like that, just by flaring the mark, the Inquisitor somehow managed to both close the Breach and banish the magister by hurling him into the Fade.

“Huh,” he heard Varric mutter. “He really  _has_ gotten good with that magic hand trick.”

Dorian would have happily quipped back, but it was at that moment that the sky started falling. At least that it how it seemed as large chucks of stone crashed down all around their heads. Only later did it become clear it was just the Temple itself that was collapsing about them.

“Inquisition!” Max shouted. “Let’s go!”

They ran again.

Once safely away, they all stopped. Everyone trying to catch their breath. Dorian did a quick inventory of the crowd – Bull, Sera, Varric, and all the others were here. Even Morrigan, who appeared, pale and clutching at a wound in her side, and looked up at the Inquisitor with something resembling respect. “Victorious, I see. What a novel result.”

Dorian moved towards Max. “And you’re alive. And I’m alive! Incredible, isn’t it?” Reaching the Inquisitor, Dorian barely resisted the urge to clasp his lover to him. “Maker, Max! I told you not to scare me like that again!”

Smiling, Max stepped forward. Reached for Dorian’s hands, pulling him closer. Drew Dorian into his arms and then kissed him.

Kissed him like he hadn’t just defeated Corypheus and that the world was still going to end.

Kissed him like he’d just saved the world and Dorian’s lips were his prize.

And kissed him like they were the only two lovers left alive, alone in the world.

Except they weren’t alone. A fact that was poignantly driven home when Max finally drew back, and Dorian realized that everyone had just watched the Inquisitor kiss him. The entire Inquisition.

The Inquisitor’s display of public affection couldn’t have possibly been more public.

Dorian was vaguely grateful that his skin was dark enough to conceal a blush as he felt the heat rising to his face. Some of the people gazing up at them wore expressions of shock. Others of disapproval, but his friends – Bull, Varric, Sera, and Cole – were smiling.

Max lifted a hand to Dorian’s face. His gaze was soft with love.

“Max,” Dorian hissed. “Everyone is looking! What will people say?”

Max only smiled. “I don’t care if they look. And I certainly don’t give a damn what they say.”

Dorian felt his heart melting. There it was. On the ground. A useless puddle of hot, liquid wax, as Max’s eyes continued to delve deeply into his.

Maker, Max didn’t really give a damn.

As Max kissed him again, neither did Dorian.

***

“Well,” Varric said. “That went better than expected.”

Torchlight flickered in the Great Hall of Skyhold, casting pools of light and creating shadows, as the guests circulated. They’d already partaken of the feast that Josephine had arranged, and now sat at one of the tables, with cups of wine, finally basking in their glory.

After their long, cold journey back from the Temple of Sacred Ashes, Dorian was glad to be indoors again. And the wine wasn’t terrible.

“If by ‘better than expected’ you mean we’re all still alive, then yes,” Dorian said. “I don’t disagree with you.”

“Sorry I missed it,” Krem said, then gave Bull a reproachful look. “Of course, that would be the Chief’s fault for sending us off on a mission right before the fight.”

“Hey now, Krem de la Krem,” Bull rumbled. “How was I supposed to know? It wasn’t as if the Elder One sent us a written invitation to the showdown. Just kind of happened.”

“Yeah,” Sera said. “You should have seen the look on Cor-iffy-sack’s face when the Herald slew his dragon. He nearly cried evil magister tears, which was great, yeah? Least you’re here for the party, though.”

Krem raised his cup in hearty agreement.

“That reminds me, Sparkler,” Varric said, with a glint in his eye. “Didn’t you and I make a bet on the outcome of this whole mess? I think you owe my twenty royals.”

“Well,” Dorian said. “I suppose it’s better to be alive and in debt, rather than dead. Dead would make it a bit hard to spend my winnings.”

Varric grinned in appreciation. “Seems like everything turned out all right for you, Sparkler. “Not only are you still alive, but you found a way to get your old body back, you’re practically a hero of the Inquisition, and you even got the boy in the end.”

Sera snickered. “Yeah, some boy got it ‘in the end.’ That’s for sure, given the way those two have been going on about it.”

A soft voice floated over. “That would be Dorian. He likes it. They both like it. Possessing, possessed. The way he cries out your name from his heart. He holds so carefully. He makes you feel precious.”

Dorian nearly screeched. “Cole!”

Bull smirked. “Heh. I knew it.”

Dorian cleared his throat. “Yes, well, Varric,” he said. “I’m afraid I’m not quite used to this whole ‘Hero of the Inquisition’ business. I’d become rather accustomed to being reviled. And now, suddenly, people are calling me ‘The Good Tevinter.’ Bizarre, really.”

“The Good Tevinter, eh?” Varric said. “That might make it hard for you to fit in when you go back to your homeland.”

“A fair point.”

“So, are you?” Sera asked. “Are you going back, then?”

“Instead of – what? Becoming a Red Jenny? Though I admit that I do look particularly dashing in red.”

Sera smiled. “You’re a bit too noble for us. But you like sticking it to nobles, right?”

“Well, I don’t.” Dorian smiled slyly. “But the Inquisitor does.”

Sera lit up. “He’s make a great Red Jenny! He could distract people with that thing he does with his hand, then stick ‘em with his big sword when they ain’t lookin’.”

“Funny how accurate that is. And I’d prefer if he didn’t do it to anyone else.”

“Why not? He’s be so good at it. Yeah, he could stick it to everyone ‘til they beg for friggin’ mercy.”

Dorian almost choked on his wine. “Still accurate and... Maker, how does she not _know?”_

“Know what?”

“I’ll explain it to you later, Buttercup,” Varric said soothingly. “Or... not.”

Dorian leaned back in his chair as Varric changed the subject. Sipping his wine, he let his eyes sweep the room until he found the Inquisitor. Max, playing the good host, had been circulating for hours, speaking to everyone: friends, honored guests, advisers, and even the guards and servants on duty. Now he and Cullen stood near the throne. Expressions grave. Then Max smiled, a hand on Cullen’s shoulder briefly. Then Cullen nodded, said something, and turned away. Max then scanned the room, searching, seeking, but his eyes did not fall on Dorian. Then the Inquisitor turned and headed towards the door that led to his quarters.

_It’s been a long night. He must be exhausted. I should just leave him be._

Cole was then hovering near Dorian’s chair. “He wants you to follow.”

In a heartbeat, Dorian’s cup was discarded upon the table and he was out of his chair.

Max was nearly at the door when a familiar voice stopped him. “Going somewhere, _amatus?”_

Max turned as Dorian came up to him. “Did you need me for something?”

“I do,” Dorian said. “Come with me.”

Then Dorian’s hands were on his shoulders, forcing him back. Max raised his hands in a gesture of surrender as Dorian pushed him through the door.

“Better. Yes?” Dorian said once they’d reached Max’s quarters at the top of the stairs.

Max said nothing. Instead he walked onto the balcony, where he placed his hands upon the railing.

A moment later, Dorian was beside him, a hand sliding over Max’s shoulder. “So,” Max said, as he continued to look out over the landscape. “I suppose you’ll be going back to Tevinter now.”

He felt Dorian’s weight lightly against his back as the mage’s hands slipped around his waist. “I’m afraid not,” Dorian said softly, breath warm against Max’s ear. “I’ve done a terribly foolish thing.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, I’ve fallen in love with the Inquisitor.”

A smile flickered across the Inquisitor’s face. “Oh, have you, now?”

Dorian’s coaxing hands turned him around. Gray eyes soft, a smile on his lips below the curving mustache. “Yes, I’m afraid so.”

Max lifted a hand to Dorian’s face. Leaned in to kiss him once, gently. Drawing back, he smiled. “In that case, Dorian, I may just have to marry you.”

Dorian’s eyes widened in surprise. Then he smiled slyly.  _“Amatus,_ you’re doing it all wrong. If you’re going to propose properly, you need to go down on one knee.”

Max looked thoughtful, then he matched Dorian’s sly smile with one of his own. “If I didn’t know better, Dorian, I’d think you just wanted me on my knees in front of you.”

“Don’t forget ‘going down,’” Dorian teased. “That was the best part.”

Max laughed. “I thought that was implied.”

Dorian stepped closer, so now they were chest to chest, hips to hips. “You know, _amatus,_ I might consider marrying you, but I’m not some peasant boy you just rolled in the hay. I deserve something far more... romantic.”

“Well, then,” Max said thoughtfully. “What if we save the world from its imminent doom, then I kiss you as the sun sets majestically over the Frostback mountains behind us? Would that be romantic enough?”

A spark glimmered in Dorian’s eyes. “It might be,” he said slowly, as the Inquisitor leaned in to press another tender kiss to his lips.

And it was.

 


End file.
